


Universe: Heart of Fire

by BlastedKing



Series: Universe: Law of Fire [1]
Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark fic, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24427459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlastedKing/pseuds/BlastedKing
Summary: The DSS Hootsforce is traveling the galaxy, fighting for the light. But in the back of his mind, the heroic Prince of Fife is faced with a shadow of evil intent and soon thrust into a fight against a merciless foe on a battlefield of darkness. A battle with rules unbeknownst to him. Can the wizard at his side help him win this fight, or will he be the reason for his downfall?
Series: Universe: Law of Fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764028
Comments: 83
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So.  
> While I kept the canon events for this, this is a backdrop for the [ Universe: Law of Fire Comic](https://universelawoffire.tumblr.com/), set after the end of the Terror Vortex conclusion. The idea is that this is what happens somewhere in the background over the course of the planned comics and explains how it's a thing in the first place (you know, with Angus being all crispy).
> 
> While the comic and most art are more light hearted and fun, this one hits comparatively emotional and angsty notes. Things will turn very grim for a while, including some serious mental health issues being brought up. For anyone struggling with this, stay safe and please take the tags seriously, because I mean them, this will be dark.  
> M rating because it also contains mild gore at certain points. But it will end with a well deserved happy end.
> 
> The first four chapters are rather short for effect purposes, average chapter length will hover around 2.5k after that.
> 
> Beta and polish has been done by the one and only, the wonderful [LigeiaMaloy!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LigeiaMaloy/pseuds/LigeiaMaloy)
> 
> Hope you like it!

_"And lo, Zargothrax was finally defeated._

_But in the epic final struggle with the dark sorcerer, the valiant hero Angus McFife realised he had been impaled by the Knife of Evil._

_As he watched the lifeless corpse of Zargothrax dissolve into liquid dust, Angus knew that soon he himself would be corrupted by the dark power of that cursed blade._

_And so he resolved that he must make the final sacrifice for the Glory of Dundee, he would end his own life by descending into the raging volcanic fires of Schiehallion!"_

(The Fires of Ancient Cosmic Destiny - Gloryhammer)

* * *

Unbearable heat pressed onto his body. Fingers of molten stardust grasped at his limbs, pulling him down, down into the abyss, where raging flames embraced and impalled him. 

He felt the fire and yet he was freezing cold.

He shivered, ripped from the nightmare by the mercy of his brain, his breath flat and staggered. His fingers trembled as he wiped the ice cold sweat from his face. 

Casting the thin blanket aside, Angus sat up and pressed his bare feet against the smooth metal floor. It was warm against his cold skin. Through it, he felt the low pulse of the submarine and for a moment he kept his eyes closed, taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm his still shaken mind. 

This nightmare wasn’t new to him. On the contrary, since the beginning it had felt strangely familiar. Although he couldn't even remember when it happened the first time. Horrible, unpleasant and allconsuming nightmares - and there was something deeply unsettling about them he couldn't quite put his finger on. More unsettling than the concept of death.

He slipped into clean, light clothing that would keep his honour intact while walking the ship and left his cabin. There was nothing royal about it, the room was as functional as everything on the DSS Hootsforce and not much beyond that. It didn’t bother him much. He liked this ship because it was a great ship, a powerful force of the light. Nimble and quick - royal standards be damned, this was a good ship to be on. 

And he was here with the people he trusted the most. Powerful allies and the best of friends. 

He took the ladders to the command deck. To this day he still struggled to orientate the submarine interior with its hull. The large, round windows were in truth convincing screens, displaying the outside from viewpoints that sometimes didn't quite aligned with the sub’s actual orientation. 

Fortunately, there was little risk of getting lost between the quarters and the command deck while under trust. He simply had to go up to the very top of the conning tower. Or front, from whatever angle one was looking at it.

He met no one on his way. He hadn’t expected to. The Hootsforce operated under a simulated day night cycle - even though most of her crew didn’t seem to have much use for it - and the according work shifts. With the graveyard shift came empty corridors and the cold blinking lights of deserted stations on autopilot. 

Angus wasn’t surprised to find Ralathor on the command deck, sitting in front of one of the front monitor panels. 

Why he wasn’t surprised, or how he could possibly have known that he would find the man here wasn't important, Angus was glad about it either way. 

“Did you fall asleep?” Angus asked, his voice carrying a cheerful pitch that betrayed the turmoil his nightmares had left. 

“I did not.” Ralathor wasn’t startled. He didn’t turn to face Angus who walked up to him and sat down in the seat next to the commander. He only briefly looked at the bright screen. Whatever Ralathor had been looking at was, to Angus, nothing but important sounding wizardry. 

“You look like you did, though. What woke you up?” 

Angus blinked, only really looking now at Ralathor, and he somehow couldn’t shake the feeling that Ralathor had expected him. But really, would _that_ surprise him?

“Just dreams.” He waved the idea away with one hand, partly to convince himself that it really was nothing at all. It did not help. Neither did the silence that followed. Ralathor looked away from him, so he turned his attention back at the screen. 

Ralathor had never been one of many words, and it had never bothered Angus before. He was quite comfortable to fill a conversation for two if he had too but this time, he didn’t know what to do with this silence. When it stretched to the point of discomfort he finally said: “It’s the same dream, actually. For a while now.” 

“Hm.” 

Never so much did he long for the bait to be taken, to be asked, to be _noticed_. For a reaction that’s more than a simple acknowledgement of his words. “It’s an inferno. Flames everywhere, tearing me apart. I can feel it on my skin, but inside of me, too. Quite horrible actually. A little bit like that poison Hootsman brought with him the other day, heh.” He laughed, but it was a weak sound, his eyes searching for Ralathor’s. But his eyes only reflected the bright screen. He wasn’t laughing. 

“Ah, you know what, it’s silly, I know. Just dreams right?” Angus' hands were restless, as was his tone. He tried to lean back but was leaning forward almost immediately again, uncertain if he should stand up and leave or not. 

“Angus. Do you know where we’re going?” 

“Sure,” he answered without missing a beat, he didn’t have to think about it. Of course he knew. They were on an important mission after all. For a moment a light frown drew his brows down while he tried to remember what that mission exactly was. He was sure there had been a briefing. God, he should have paid more attention.

Ralathor finally looked at him, and Angus was startled by what he saw in his eyes that looked so much darker today in his exhausted face. Not a single emotion betrayed the pale features, and yet it was as if a deep, endless ocean opened up behind those eyes. Something that didn’t seem human and yet made Angus feel deep sorrow.

“What?” 

There was something, maybe it was the hint of a smile as the commander answered, but if it was, it was the most somber smile Angus had ever seen on Ralathor’s face. 

“You’re right. They are just dreams.” It wasn't a smile. “Try not to think about it too much.” 

Angus tried to find solace in those words and failed. “I’ll try.”


	2. Chapter 2

The heat clawed its talons into his flesh, dragging him into the void, and as the overwhelming fire swallowed him whole, he woke up. Ice-cold sweat covered his skin and he shuddered when he threw the blanked aside.

The floor was warm against his feet, faintly he sensed the familiar pulse of the submarine's engine. It calmed his nerves. 

His body ached when he stood up. He barely wanted to get dressed but he did so anyways. Trying to go back to sleep seemed even more unappealing.

Angus left his room and made his way up the deserted feeling DSS Hootsforce. In zero gravity he would be able to just shoot through the main shaft straight up in no time - but right now, his own weight was pressing him down onto the metal floor, almost as if it wanted to keep him from coming up further.

He sighed when he reached the command deck, then turned to the front panels. Ralathor sat with his back to him.

  
  


“Did you fall asleep?” Angus asked, his voice tired but light, a faint sense of déjà vu tingling in his mind.

“I did not.” Ralathor wasn’t startled, nor did he turn to face Angus who in turn walked up to him and sat down in the seat next to the commander.

"It's those nightmares still," he admitted before Ralathor could ask. "Actually…" Angus took a pause, his eyes unfocused as he looked around the command deck that seemed so different when it was deserted like this. Almost unreal. "I'm not quite sure I'm not still dreaming."

From the corner of his eyes he saw the slight move in Ralathors face and was surprised to see a weak smile in the corners of the other man's mouth. The worst thing about it though, was that it didn't seem very happy. 

"What makes you say that?" the commander asked, accepting the bait. 

"I don't know - things are going a bit too well as of late, don't they? I feel like something should be happening, something to really kick us in the ass. But it's not."

"What exactly do you expect to happen?"

Angus shifted on his seat, looking at his own knees while sorting his thoughts. What came to mind were vague ideas of massive explosions, tears in time and space, and by hoots, that blasted fire again - the images weren’t like memories, not quite, but they felt as familiar - and unsettling - as those nightmares. 

His mind wandered off, trying to find something to focus on but everything he came up with seemed blurred and not quite there as that he could put it into words. Ralathor stayed quiet, not pressuring him for an answer, but at this rate he might won't get an answer in the next three hours. If even. Then again - time wasn't a factor the commander seemed particularly concerned about. 

Angus frowned slightly, something like a faint headache in the back of his brain poked him as he thought about Ralathor now. He did remember the legend of the Hermit that helped the first Angus McFife all those centuries ago - and then there was Ralathor now. The pain increased as did a terrible desperation within him - he remembered coming on this ship the first time, there had been a battle, but where had that been? And when? He barely remembered the details - he figured they had won, but how, he could not tell. He knew that he had been looking for something and then he met Ralathor - he had helped him. Helped him ever since without question, fighting side by side. 

"Do you remember when we met?"

Ralathor looked at him, his eyes tired. "You have to be a little more specific about that, Angus."

"What was that battle about? The last one."

Ralathor stayed quiet for a moment. His eyes fixed on the screen before him but Angus could see in his face that he wasn't really looking at it. 

"It feels like an eternity ago, doesn't it? An evil threat, a problem to solve, forces to gather - I admit, things have become a bit blurred in my memories as of late."

Angus raised his head in surprise, staring in utter disbelief at the sub commander. 

Ralathor was lying to him. 

Maybe for the first time since he knew him. A fact that not only greatly confused him as to why he would do that over this topic, but also hurt. It felt like betrayal - and yet, or maybe because of that, he was unable to call him out on it. 

"I guess it's really been a while..." Angus said instead, unable to hide the bitter undertone in his voice. 

The silence that followed was suffocating. Maybe if Angus were drunk he might have begged him now not to lie to him, but as it was he could not bring himself to it. Maybe out of pride, maybe out of fear to learn the reason for it after all.

"You should sleep, Angus. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

"Yeah…"


	3. Chapter 3

Fire and heat. 

Cold sweat on his shivering body. 

The warm floor and pulse of the engine. 

The empty submarine.

Seemingly endless ladders up to the command deck. 

Ralathor sitting at the front consoles. 

“Did you fall asleep?” Angus asked, his voice dull and quiet. The mere question felt hollow, like a badly written screenplay he already knew the lines of.

Ralathor, however, missed his cue and didn’t answer. He slightly moved his head, signaling Angus to sit down.

Angus did and stayed quiet for almost five minutes in which Ralathors eyes just skimmed over the endless lines of information on the screen before him.

"Do you ever feel like you're dead?"

Ralathor looked at him briefly, his brows raised only ever so slightly in scepticism that felt quite grounding Angus had to admit. His own words sounded silly to him.

"Every morning."

Angus couldn't help but smile weakly. " _ Now _ you're joking. Of all times." His smile faltered "I guess I can't fault you. I keep pestering you here - figure you're not here for the company in the middle of the night."

He halted, but not giving Ralathor enough time to answer before he continued, the grim disappointment low in his voice. "But I'm serious about this. Listen to me, no - look at me."

The urgency in Angus' voice made the commander finally really look at him. And there it was still, the restless darkness within his eyes.

"I feel like I'm not supposed to be alive. Like I am dead! My memories are all over the place, half of the time I'm not even sure where we are or what we're doing. And it all has something to do with these dreams. I'm sure of it!."

"People who are dead usually don't ask if they are." Ralathor said driely. 

A brief flame of anger burned in Angus' stomach. Ralathor was still not taking him seriously, but as he saw the look on the others' faces he swallowed the anger. There was no amusement in Ralathor’s face.

"Angus, listen to me closely, I will say this once. And you have to believe me and believe that I don't speak empty words."

Angus almost failed to nod at the sudden tension that had taken hold of his body, faintly he felt Ralathors hand on his shoulder, applying firm pressure to give his words weight. 

"Alright...I'm listening."

"You are  _ not _ dead. You are still needed and until that time comes I need you to stay focused and with me, you understand that?"

"I -"

"Yes, I know. But please trust me here. You're at the safest place you can be, on my ship, with your friends. Out for grand adventures. You always wanted that."

"I did," Angus said lowly, then added even quieter, "Is this purgatory?"

"By the lords, are you suffering our company this bad? Once again, Angus, you're not dead."

"It's not you." Angus shook his head slightly. "But I can't shake the feeling that something isn't quite right. That I forgot about something really important." Another faint shake of the head. "Like, what are we doing here? There was something big, something we were supposed to do. With this ship."

Now it was Ralathor who shook his head. "I can't answer you that."

"Can't or won't? Because usually you've got an answer to everything."

"I don't think that really matters."

"It does to me."

"I'm sorry then." Ralathor drew his hand back and Angus felt a strange sensation by the sudden separation. He hadn’t noticed how intense their conversation had gotten. 

He was angry and frustrated but the worst was the painful grip around his heart by the disappointment over the fact that this man he called his friend, whom he would trust with his life, was once again not telling him what he wanted - no - needed to know.

"Why?" It was in the end the only thing really he absolutely had to have answered. Angus was willing to trust Ralathor so far that if only he gave him one good reason for his silence, then he would accept it. At least he liked to believe that - because he knew that there was a reason and it had to be a good one. But that wasn't enough. 

A regretful frown darkened Ralathor’s eyes as he looked at him and Angus knew before he spoke that he wouldn't like the answer.

"Because I can't."


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't the fire. Not the heat and neither the grasp crushing his entire body.

It was a sharp, blinding pain that seemed to rip his insides apart. A freezing sensation so cold it burned right through him, sinking deep below his sternum. And from there, radiating through his blood. Burning through his veins. The pain was crippling.

His hand pressed against his stomach. It was his own scream of pain that woke him and left him with adrenaline pumping his heart to the point it hurt and a shrill ringing in his ears. For an eternity he didn't even know where he was. But those seconds past and as he snapped back into reality he twitched back, kicking the blanket aside feverishly. His hand still pressed against his stomach and as he rose it he would have bet his life on it that he would see blood sticking to his palm now. And for a fraction of a second it was there. He could see it, his shirt soaked red, his fingers glistening in a lightsource that wasn't there. 

But then there was nothing. His hands clean and his shirt sticked to his body by cold sweat. 

The memory of the pain still lingered. He moved carefully, expecting a sudden return of it should he move too quickly.

But it didn't happen. Neither calmed his quickened breath or heart. A macabre certainty manifested in his mind that at this rate, if he truly wasn't dead yet, he would die on this fun adventure not from enemy fire, by the hands of a beast or foe, but from a glorious heartattack in the middle of the night.

Leaning his head against the unyielding metal of the wall, he closed his eyes for a moment. Taking some deep breaths. The exhaustion came crashing down on him as the adrenaline faded. 

"Angus? You seem bothered?" 

Angus’ eyes darted up, meeting Ralathor’s. For once not enamoured with the fronpanels. Angus' hands twitched and his eyes grew wider. 

He was fully dressed and sat again back in the command deck, with Ralathor, like all these other nights. 

Only he didn't know how he had gotten here. 

"How-" He looked behind himself as if the way he should have taken would remind him that he had. But nothing. "How did I - get here?"

"Get where?" 

"Here. Right now?"

"You came up about 10 minutes ago."

"I did?"

"Are you alright, Angus?"

"Am I - alright?….are you kidding-" Angus looked back at Ralathor and was surprised to find out that the anger that suddenly rose in his stomach almost hurt as badly as the nightmare before. Alarmed, he also realized that his fists were clenched tight and the urge to hit the other man till he no longer could ask such frankly insulting things, after all he had told him, was only slowly fading. 

Ralathor had seen it too, it must have been written clearly on his face because now Angus saw something in Ralathor's face that he had never seen directed at him. 

A tense alertness.

It took every wind out of his own sails. His hands dropped back on his legs. 

"I'm not, am I? There is something wrong with me, right?" Not more than an uncertain whisper, but in the total silence surrounding them clearly audible.

Ralathor's jaw was clenched tight, but his frown was once again filled with regret. 

"Yes."

"What? What is it? Please, Ralathor, I'm-" - going insane. His breath flat, eyes wide. Was that it? Maybe none of it was real afterall. What happened? How did he get to this point?

"How do I make it stop? Can you? Can you fix me?" The words just spilled from his tongue in a feverish delusion that it had to be something that could be fixed in the first place.

"I do hope you can," Ralathor admitted.

"But how?" Angus withstood the urge to grab and shake the commander - his heart burning with a last gimmer of desperation. But those embers hung just above a crisp pool of anger, ready to be set ablaze.

"I can't tell you that. I'm sorry, Angus."

It happened so quickly that Angus was maybe even more surprised than Ralathor when they crashed to the ground, Angus above the other man, his hands grabbed tightly into the black shirt, trembling and white knuckled.

" _Don't_ say that!" 

His voice cracked while Ralathor kept his eyes steady at him, surprisingly calm. 

"Why do you _keep_ saying that?" His clenched fist hitting against the others chest, being pulled by the grip at his shirt Ralathor was pulled off and back onto the metal floor with a dull thump, but a mere hiss through his teeth was all the reaction he showed. "If you _know_ what is happening to me, why can't you just _tell_ me?"

Angus hands were shaking so hard, he could barely keep the grip around the black fabric. He was dizzy, his mind racing, and the thoughts blinded by anger and despair.

"Do you trust me, Angus?"

The words cut so sharp through his spiraling thoughts that Angus held his breath. Looking down, still trembling, at Ralathor who still met his eyes with a steady and unnervingly calm gaze. 

He let out his breath. Everything that was left within him was suffocating sadness. 

"I used to," he whispered. 

"Why?"

The simple question came utterly unexpected and it gave Angus pause. "Because- we're-" He stopped before he could finish the sentence. Staring at Ralathor who slightly raised his browses. 

Images suddenly flooded his mind, faint memories of a man appearing with knowledge no mortal man possessed but barely spoke about it, a man quiet and reclusive but always inexplicably there in their greatest hour of need. A man he barely got to know before he would disappear again. A man that in all likelihood wasn't even truly human. And it was the first thing he now remembered that felt real.

"I don't know you." Angus said quietly, his voice dampened by the shattering realization.

"You don't. At least, you used to." Ralathor answered.

"What do you mean by that?" 

"I've been your ally, your family's allay, humanity's ally, more often than I could count. I've always been that. Only you always wanted to see me as your friend, not just an ally in your wars. 

You're a good man, Angus, but now you're sick. Very sick. And until you are better, and we can return home again, I can only try to be that friend to you you think me to be."

"You're not very good at it."

"I know."

Angus' hands had lost all their strength, by now only laying on top of the commander’s chest. Taking one of his wrists, Ralathor downright gently pulled him aside, off his own body so he finally could sit up. Angus complied with numb movement. 

First, when he felt Ralathors hand on his shoulder he looked back up, surprised he found his vision no longer as clear as he wanted it to be as the image of the man in front of him became blurry in front of his eyes. 

"I just want to understand what is happening," he said quietly, one last time. 

"The human mind is merciful and cruel, Angus. You'll understand and remember, and if we’re lucky, it won’t drive you insane. But for now, there is nothing you can do to slow or quicken this process. You need to accept that."

"I wish I could."

"You have to.”


	5. Chapter 5

His back hurt.

Shoulders too. His neck stiff. 

Angus felt like he had aged several decades in the past...what? Day? Two days? Maybe three, he couldn't tell anymore. 

Sometimes he could hear people outside the door. At some point someone had knocked but he sent them away without opening the door. 

Once or twice he conjured himself up to at least relieve himself and drink a glass of water, but even that felt distant, like something that happened ages ago. 

He wished he could sleep. He hadn't in a while. The room was dark and his tired eyes had well adjusted to it. Yet, at the edges of his field of vision, he caught dark figures moving like molasses in the shadows.

He couldn't stand up anymore. Technically, he sure could, he still had his legs and despite the arching pain his back was still functional as well. But practically, he couldn't. Every part of his body felt as if his bones and cells were filled with lead. Maybe, he thought, the engines were burning harder than usual and that was why the g-forces were higher today. But he knew that wasn't true. 

It was all in his head. 

Tragically, even with this knowledge, there was nothing he could do. He was choking, slowly and miserably, on this allconsuming dark feeling that had swallowed his heart whole and infected his brain.

The shadows moved again but Angus didn't have the strength to turn his head. His dry eyes were fixed on the ceiling above. He was so thirsty - but not hungry, even though he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten.

The shadow crept closer into his view, but it didn’t take shape. Not really. 

Angus’ breath quickened and his heart sank, his eyes now locked onto that growing, soon hulking black mass of hatred. It bent over him now. 

He stared at the shadow and a strange sensation overcame him. It was all he could do. Stare. While the calmness of cold terror embraced him. Unable to lift even a finger, unable to speak. Maybe he didn't have to. 

_ I know you _

The thought was so clear in his head but he couldn't voice it. His eyes opened wider as he watched the creature, now standing three meters tall, hunched over in the small room raise what might have been an arm. It hovered above him. It had no eyes or face but yet, Angus met the shadow’s gaze. From the diffuse yet dense darkness, it was not just watching him - it glared straight into his mind. 

With no warning, the mass of darkness plunged down. A deformed shadow appendix shot from the dark horror. Clawless and without anything even resembling a hand, it pierced through Angus’ chest.

The ear-shattering cracking of his own rips breaking apart tingled along his spine. His lungs collapsed under the pressure of the shadow mass and he felt it - felt pitch black tendrils grasp his heart, burning cold and sticking like tar, clenching around the pulsating muscle. His heart beating faster and faster in his torn chest and through his panic, Angus felt his body slowly dying. 

He couldn't breathe anymore. 

His vision was fading from his eyes swimming in tears. The pain was unbearable, he needed to scream, toss, turn. To fight.    
But he knew it was already too late. The tight grasp was closing further. 

Everything was cold. 

So terribly cold. 

His heart painfully hammering against his broken ribs.

Pounding. Loud and harsh like striking metal.

"Angus?"

He gasped. His eyes wide open still. The room empty. 

And he was still alive. 

Hesitatingly he tried to raise his arm, terrified of the possibility that he couldn't. But his tired limbs moved again. 

"Angus! Open up or I will!"

Finally, he recognized the sound. It was somebody knocking at the door. Very hard knocking. A man's voice tense as he called Angus’ name. 

Standing up. Opening the door. Facing his  _ friend. _ It seemed easy enough. And yet... 

"Go away…"

His voice was no more than a raspy whisper, his dry throat hurt and was in dire need of water. 

"Angus, I'm coming in!"

"No." Too croaky for Ralathor to be able to hear him.

A soft peep outside, followed by the door sliding open.

Angus turned on his side, away from the man who came towards him. He didn't want to see Ralathor. Or anyone. 

"Leave me be." 

"Angus, it's been over two days. You haven't eaten and I'm worried about you." 

God, Angus wished he had a snappy retort ready to answer, maybe even something hurtful. His heart ached at the thought. He hated the unfamiliar bitterness that spawned these thoughts.

"Please go."

But Ralathor didn't. 

Angus heard something drag over the floor then Ralathors voice again. 

"No."

A brief silence. Angus tried to listen to Ralathor breathing but all he heard was the low hum of the submarine. A part of him wanted nothing more than to turn around, to look Ralathor in the eyes, but that part was half dead and withering away, like him. There was nothing he could expect Ralathor to say to make this any better. He knew that with terrible certainty.

A whiff of roasted meat burned in his nose and his stomach cramped.

"I've brought you something to eat," Ralathor said, sounding almost disturbingly matter of factly. Followed by a pause, and then, to Angus surprise, a low sigh. 

"I'm - not the best at these things, I think you know that much of me by now. However, Angus, I can see that you are really struggling, and it pains me to see you like this." Another brief pause before Ralathor spoke again, "Please believe me when I tell you that there is nothing I can offer you that could help you under these circumstances. Nothing but my words and my ear."

Anger, frustration, grief - the emotions swirling in his head were overwhelming and yet, neither of them was strong enough against the others to take over his mind completely. In the end, it all just melted together into this deeply rooted, paralyzing sadness. 

"Is it because you need me for something? You said that…" Angus' voice was a mere whisper. He stared at the smooth wall. 

"Pardon me?"

"Why do you care? Because you need me to do something for you? That's it, right?"

"It's not wrong. But it's also only part of the truth."

"Of course." The bitterness burnt in his throat. Why couldn't he just go and leave him alone? In the silence, the bitter feelings turned to anger, and Angus feared he would say something he might regret later. So he just bit his lip to keep himself quiet.

"I don't like people that much, Angus." 

Angus frowned, puzzled. Drowning in his own sea of pain and sorrow, Ralathor’s blunt statement about himself felt out of the blue and it was said with so much earnestness that Angus couldn't help but perk up and listen closely. In spite of himself, curious about what was coming next. 

"I like solitude, quiet, learning. I like peace. I don't like people because they more often than not disturbed all that." A low sound of heels shifting on the floor. Fabric rustling.

"I used to not like you either, Angus. Because you're loud, exhausting, and sometimes even obnoxious."

Angus swallowed hard. It felt like something pressed up from the pit of his empty stomach and closed his throat. "Is this your idea of making me feel better?" His voice had grown even weaker, close to breaking. Ralathor didn't answer the question.

"I'm sure with all that in mind you won't be surprised when I tell you that I don't make friends easily." That rustling of fabric again. "I choose to be here with you for my own reasons, that is true. I chose to stay with you because somehow I still hope to go back to things just as they used to be someday. An idea that seems to become more and more ridiculous with every passing century."

Angus held his breath. He was surprised to hear a clear bitter undertone in Ralathor’s voice and it struck him suddenly but clear as lightning. The realization that he himself never really tried to see the other as ...human. To imagine that this man had his own desires and goals besides helping him, his own fears and regrets he had never shown to him. Angus had thought better of himself, but really, he knew nothing about what made Ralathor human. Or like a human.

"Angus. We've spent quite a while together. Maybe we would have chosen differently if we had been given a true choice in that matter. But as it is, I've come to accept you, and even more than that. I've come to appreciate your company." 

That heavy lump in his throat was too large to swallow, Angus pressed his hand against his mouth. 

"I don't know if that makes us friends, I'll let you be the judge of that. All I know is that yes, you are loud and obnoxious, but you're also fiercely loyal and pure at heart."

"That's not true." Angus tried to breathe freely but all came from his throat was a pathetic gasp. 

"Not anymore. I hate these thoughts I'm having. They are not _ me _ . I'm not like that." He was in pain. There was nothing he could do to make it go away. Something had broken inside of him that could not be rebuilt. 

"I know you're not." Ralathor’s voice came closer. "You are a good man, Angus, a good man that met a terrible fate. And to escape it, you will have to fight like you never fought before in your life. A kind of battle unknown to an iron willed man like yourself."

How could he talk of fighting when he had never felt this weak in his life? A pained gasp escaped his throat 

Suddenly, he froze. 

He stopped breathing. His body tensed as he felt Ralathor’s hand on his shoulder. Nothing more than a faint touch, just enough to assure him that he was there. 

"I'm sorry that you have to go through this."

And it was gone again. 

Steps walked away from him and Angus said nothing. Not because he didn't want to, he just couldn't. 

The door closed and once more, he was alone, he and the shadows around him.

His hand felt for his shoulder where the weight of Ralathor's touch has already faded into a faint memory. His fingers dug so hard into his own skin it left marks but he barely noticed it.

He began to cry - but not because of sadness or loneliness, not out of desperation or fear. 

He cried because in this moment, he hated that man from the bottom of his heart. 

And if it was even possible, himself even more for hating him.


	6. Chapter 6

His dreams had become dark. A merciful, total unconsciousness.

Angus woke up, laying on his back, eyes open and strangely awake.

An all to familiar feeling lingered in the pit of his stomach - and it wasn't hunger. 

Anger. 

Blinding, white anger. Seething and waiting. 

It had settled firmly within his soul days ago and had not left him since. 

But as he stared at the ceiling of his room, his brows drawn into a light frown, the anger turned from familiar to comforting. 

Yes, he was angry and by god, he had every right to be.

Dragging himself out of bed, he sat for a moment at the edge of his bunk. His bare feet on the metal floor, his toes feeling for the slight ridges within it. 

Righteous anger, an unpredictable force that had been known to rekindle the life in the wronged, to push kingdoms to war, to upturn nations, but...

He felt weak. 

Even more so than ever. For the first time in a long while, he paid attention to his body; he was ravenous and thirsty, his muscles were stiff, and he had to admit, he didn't smell too good.

He didn’t just feel weak, he felt pathetic. And it was this moment when all that aimless, built-up anger suddenly focused - on him. He stood up.

He did not want to but he had to. 

He took a first conscious look at himself in the bathroom mirror. He had avoided doing so lately - because he had known he wouldn't like what he saw. Feeling weak, pathetic, angry, and now also disgusted, he struggled to keep his eyes on his reflection. Maybe he had died after all and nobody had yet noticed. He sure looked the part. 

He took that long needed shower, brushed the hair out of his face and gave the short, dishevelled beard a clean trim. All of that didn't make him feel better but he did look marginally less dead by the end of it. 

He found some clean clothes and got dressed.

Leaving his room, however, was a hurdle he had not expected to be so hard to overcome. His strong emotions suddenly made him self-conscious at the thought of his actions being mirrored in the eyes of others. His behaviour was anything but dignified. 

He stood paralysed in front of that door for almost five minutes. Staring at the control panel.

What finally gave him the push to press it was the sudden grumbling in his stomach. If not for his mental state, the shower had woken him and his body up properly, and said body remembered vividly that food was actually not that bad of a thing, all things considered. His stomach definitely didn’t care about other priorities in his life, or rather, his state of being that his life had become.

The corridor was empty and yet, he felt like an intruder, sneaking down the hallway. But slowly, with every step he took, the anger within him focused and sharpened. By the time he reached the mess hall, he held his head up high - it might not have been confidence that drove him, or even dignity, but the certainty that he would start a fight with anyone saying one wrong thing to him that kept him going. And the few crewmen that were gathered around the tables might have read the message from his feverish eyes and the hard line that was his mouth. Nobody said a word as he passed by. At least not to his face.

Angus got his badly needed meal and drink and sat down. He noticed brief glances, followed by low mumbling, and he ignored all of it. 

He took a first bite after almost emptying his glass in one go. He was amazed how good it actually tasted. The mess hall food was usually nothing to write home about, and during the past days, he had scoffed at it more than he had eaten. 

Today, however, it was good. And where the shower had failed the meal succeeded. As he finished wolfing down the last of it he _did_ feel better. 

But that wasn’t all he felt. 

Somebody was watching him. 

He lifted his eyes to meet First Officer NA10’s gaze. The officer turned and left the mess hall in a hurry.

Well, if Ralathor wasn’t aware already anyway, he would know within the next few minutes that Angus was up and about. He shrugged. So be it. 

He asked himself if he was ready to face Ralathor but, really, there was only one answer to that question. As long as Ralathor was unwilling to tell him anything, there was nothing to talk about. 

He left soon after. With a determination in his steps that was welcoming him back like an old friend, he made his way to the gym. 

It was empty, to his pleasant surprise. 

While wrapping his knuckles, he thought about Ralathors words that hadn’t left his mind in the last weeks. Solitude. Quiet. 

Angus had never seen himself much in need of either and yet, here he was, glad to get both, even after being alone with his own thoughts for so long.

A fur covered vest was lying close to him on the ground, near the safely to-the-wall fixed weights. Angus found himself actually smirking to himself. The tell tale sign that the Hootsman had been here not too long ago, leaving his stuff laying around. Oh, how Ralathor disliked that. 

His smile vanished from his face as he turned to the punching bag.

The first punches felt like they shattered the bones in his fists but soon he grew numb to it. Only when his muscles burnt and the wrapping around his knuckles showed dark spots where the sore skin had broken open he stopped.

His thoughts were wonderfully empty as his body was occupied with the strain of the exercise.

He could have left it at at that, but he didn't. He unwrapped his hands, ignoring the pain, and tossed the bandages aside, where they joined Hootsman’s vest. 

He took a few deep breaths and went on the treadmill. He started with a reasonable speed but didn’t keep it for long. Soon, he was running. 

And he kept on running. 

Even when the muscles in his legs were screaming for rest. His lungs burnt, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. His shirt, drenched in sweat, sticking to his body. 

And he kept on running.

Thinking of nothing, for the first time in what felt like an eternity not feeling the darkness within him. Instead, memories scratched at the back of his mind. At first he thought of his nightmares but there was more to it. It seemed so close, almost within grasp. His brain was intoxicated by the clarity that came with an intense workout. But just almost.

_Stop_

He had almost accepted it when a bright flash of pain struck through his brain and blinded him for a second. He stumbled violently and would have fallen if his hands hadn’t clenched around the handrails in the nick of time. His heart was jumping by shock and strain alike, his breathing short of hyperventilation. He had seen something. _Someone_. For a split second only, but as clear as if he stood right in front of him. But the figure was already fading from his memory, the face hidden in shadows. 

His legs were shaking when he tried to stand up straight, his hands trembled, and his whole body was on the verge of collapse. He needed to drink something. Dark spots bloomed in front of his eyes and he knew he had overdone it. His stomach was turning, cramping violently, reading itself to churn out the so much needed meal from earlier if Angus made only one wrong move.

Angus had barely made one heavy step when his legs gave in but this time, he didn’t have time to catch his balance. The room around him turned bright and faded to black before he hit the floor.

*

With his eyelids fluttering, he came around. 

Disorientated by the unfamiliar ceiling he didn’t understand where he was. His eyes were assaulted by fluorescent lights, the cold brightness stinging painfully in his head. 

He blinked a few more times. Noise surrounded him but they came only slowly into focus. A swirling of electrical instruments. The low and comforting hum of the submarine. Low voices talking.

He recognized only one of them and closed his eyes again.

"Still. What about his head?"

"Looking worse than it was. He will most likely have a headache when he wakes up, but that will be the worst of it."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"One more thing, Commander. If he keeps eating and working out, he certainly will regain his strength soon, but he has to take it slow. Slower than this, obviously. I fear, however, the young Prince has never taken any of my advice to heart, so I would like to ask you to appeal to his common sense."

A moment of silence when Ralathor didn’t say anything. He probably nodded, though, as the doctor sounded moderately satisfied when he spoke again, "Don't wake him. He needs the rest."

"I won't."

Then one pair of boots leaving, a door closing. And another coming closer. 

"So, is there any point in me of all people trying to convince you to be more sensible?"

Angus opened his eyes halfway, squinting against the light. He wasn't surprised Ralathor knew he had been awake.

"Probably not." His thin, raspy voice sounded alien to him. Strange, how easy it was to answer now even after he hadn't spoken to Ralathor in weeks. At times, he had been convinced he never would again.

Ralathor noticed the rasp in his voice, too, and as on cue, the next thing that appeared in Angus’ field of vision was Ralathors hand holding a glass of water. 

Moving was the worst. If he had thought his body hurting from the lethargy before was bad, now only sitting up was agony.  
Every muscle felt like it was set aflame while his brain was painfully throbbing. Nevertheless, he slowly managed to prop himself up and take the glass. This trivial action caused white spots of pain to dance in front of his eyes and his brain nearly burst. The water was soothing against the sandpaper his throat had become. At the same time, he wished it had been the Hootsman giving him a drink. Then, the chances would have been good that it would have been clear spirits instead of water. He could go for one of his stomach dissolving drinks.

His arms were trembling and he had to hold the glass with both hands. After a few careful sips, he finally looked at Ralathor, squinting to soothe the headache. 

"You don't look happy," Angus stated his observation with a light frown. For the uninitiated, the look on Ralathors face would have seemed unremarkably neutral, maybe only a tad too serious for a casual conversation but Angus knew better. 

"Actually, I'm quite relieved to see that you have finally decided to leave your room," Ralathor said. But he was still not fooling Angus.

"I expected a scolding from you." And Angus knew that it was in there somewhere, held back with inhuman restraint. The urge to reprimand him for being irresponsible and careless.

"There is a time and a place for that. Neither is here and now."

That took Angus off guard. He had mentally prepared himself for a fight with Ralathor, maybe even since the moment he had stepped out of the shower. He had expected a fight the next time they’d talk. Or wished for one.

"You do look better," Ralathor noted. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrific." Angus looked away. Moments ago, he had been ready to fight back and lash out, but now that he didn't get a reason, he felt the emotional distance between them all the more, and it was painful. But it wasn’t surprising. For the last weeks, he had remained silent in Ralathor’s company. Not for a lack of things to say; Angus had actively refused to acknowledge him, stoically ignoring Ralathor’s attempts to start a conversation until he gave up.

There was still that anger within him, that anger directed at and caused by Ralathor. But it had weakened, leaving room for regrets that made the silence between them not only uncomfortable, but insufferable.

"Don't you wanna tell me to be more careful? To not do such stupid things?" What was he doing? Why was he pushing it so desperately? God, his head was killing him.

"No." Ralathor stayed calm, not falling for the clumsily thrown bait to start the heated argument Angus yearned for. "If this is what you think you have to do to get better, do it. I won't let anyone stop you," He said in a downright grim tone that betrayed his usual display of countenance. "Just - try not to die while doing so."

Angus met his eyes. Maybe he had misunderstood the motivation of the commander’s frustration with him.

_I don't want to die. Please._

Hearing his own thought almost startled him. The words were so clear in his mind and yet, feeling foreign, as they were pleading to himself. 

He didn't want to die, did he? He might have thought to be better off dead recently but he didn't actually want to die. He frowned slightly, his headache was really starting to flare up. 

"What are you thinking about?"

Angus winced, he had actually forgotten Ralathor was standing next to him for a second. Now he realized that the commander had been watching him very closely.

"It did help though," Angus said quietly. "I felt better there for a moment." Then, lowering his eyes and barley shaking his head as it hurt too much he added "I'm just so damn angry all the time. It's like there is something growing inside of me. It is disgusting. Evil." That was it. The spitefulness, the anger, even hate for people he loved, now grating on his nerves for reasons unbeknownst to him. It felt evil.

"Is it getting worse?"

Ralahor’s voice sent a cold shudder down Angus' spine. He sounded somber and tense, carrying an urgency with it that hinted at a problem much bigger than Angus could even grasp. He understood, however, something else.

Ralathor knew. 

He knew exactly what was happening to him.

He stared into those dark eyes, black as the space between stars and more often than not merciless and hard. But it was the genuine worry in them now that was so unlike - suddenly a thought struck him like a lightning bolt, shattering his mind with a violent flash that hurt as if someone just had hit him straight against the head with a glowing crowbar. 

"Zargothrax." Angus felt his breath quicken and panic rising its ugly head. "Where is he?" 

"What are you talking about?" Ralathor’s air of calm stoicism finally faltered and his words carried real concern. "Angus, stop-"

"Is he - no. Wait." Angus’ thoughts were swirling. Unable to form even one coherent thought, he felt sick. "I saw him. But that - can't - he's dead, he- he has to be dead- no!" He fought against a hard grip that was pushing him down. He heard the urgency in Ralathor’s call but he didn’t process what he was saying.

"Doctor!"

"He has to be dead! We - we were supposed to-"

“Doctor! I need your assistance!”

The lights were too bright, the static of electricity too loud, the hasting steps on the metal floor blasting through his head like mortar fire. He couldn't breathe, his head was about to burst, the heat was unbearable.

Voices around him talked and he didn't hear any of them. 

"Why are we not there! It was the only thing-" He bit his tongue as his muscles spasmed, the taste of his own blood filling his mouth. He wanted to jump out of his skin as he felt like burning alive.

An unexpected numbness spread suddenly from his arm, calming his muscles. 

Darkness followed.


	7. Chapter 7

He faded in and out of consciousness for an eternity. When he was awake he really wasn't, when he slept he didn't dream. He hadn’t been alone. Faintly, he remembered the presence of others but for once, it hadn’t been the shadow, lurking in the corner to inject more terror into his heart.

Faintly, he remembered the nurse, more sensing than seeing them. The Hootsman had been there, chatty and boisterous. Ralathor visited him a few times. There was importance to the words his friends had spoken. 

What it was, however, he couldn’t recall, if he ever really heard what was said.

His thoughts were sluggish but calm. The few moments he managed to think a clear thought were strangely cathartic. Angus had still no idea what was going on but the sudden certainty that it had something to do with the evil wizard comforted him. 

He hadn’t just lost the grip of himself and reality, he wasn’t falling apart with no cause.

It was the evil he knew.

Though, there was one troubling detail that was impossible to ignore, and that was the unshakable certainty that Zargothrax was dead. Angus had no idea why he knew that but it didn’t matter really. Because despite whatever Ralathor might say, death was just another obstacle to overcome and never stopped anyone from doing what they really set their heart on as far as Angus was concerned. Especially evil wizards. 

His drugged mind found that quite amusing, even though there was really nothing to laugh about. 

The clarity dissolved once he thought of the tranquilizers in his brain and his mind wandered off until he fell asleep.

The next time he woke up to the nurse fussing over him. They were just like all the other crewmen, Angus didn't feel bad for not remembering their name since it was likely they never introduced themselves to him. Tooth achingly friendly bedside manners, that one. He was sure that was by design. 

He ate, he drank, listened to a cheerful anecdote from the nurse as they cleaned up after him and slept again.

He was alone with the ever-present humming of the submarine. It had been there his first night on board, disturbing his sleep. It had been there to soothe him to sleep during his adventures, when he rested with weary limbs. And it didn’t desert him when he had nothing but rage for his friends and for himself. In the good and worst of times, it had become a friend and was, with the nurse gone and no visitors checking on him, his only company.

But not really. 

_ Why am I awake? _

What a strange thought to have.

_ It's not supposed to be like this. _

_ What does that mean? _

Slowly, he more dropped than rolled his head to the side, as if he was actually trying to face whoever was part of this odd conversation. But it was just his own voice in his head. Since he had already accepted that he was going insane, this didn't seem particularly disconcerting and not at all surprising. In fact, it was nice to not hurl the thoughts that pained him into the void of his mind. Maybe it was still the drugs speaking but he almost found it funny to receive clearer answers from the chaos of his muddled mind than from Ralathor. 

_ It just seemed like the right thing to do. _

He hummed in agreement. 

_ This isn't right. _

_ I'm going to get through this. _

_ I don't want to die. _

That again. 

Then he slept.

When he woke up again, he felt clearer. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. 

"Hey," he said quietly.

Ralathor acknowledged him waking up with a small nod. 

"You watching me sleep, gonna admit, a bit unsettling." He tried to follow up his quip with a grin but his face was still sluggish from his sleep and tranquilizers. 

There was the fainted roll of the eyes from Ralathor, but relief, too. "Now you actually sound better." 

Angus wasn’t sure yet if he agreed but he definitely felt a little better. He felt like things made a bit more sense and while the answers to his many questions weren’t all in reach, he was confident they existed.

"We're taking you off the sedatives, slowly, how are you holding up?"

"I'm good."

"I've reasons to doubt that, but okay."

Angus noticed Ralathors squeezing his hands tightly, his thumbs fidgeting. 

"I had hoped to avoid - this," Ralathor admitted slowly, willfully omitting what exactly he meant by  _ this.  _ "However, we made progress and that is a good thing. Maybe."

"Maybe? I appreciate whatever honesty I can get. You still aren’t going to tell me what's going on, are you?" Angus asked to his own surprise very calmly which confirmed to him only that he was still very much under the influence of god knew what. He was clear enough in his head to know that if his nerves were again his own to manage, he’d be far less patient.

What Ralathor had to say next surprised him.

"You're starting to remember. Which, as you might have noticed, is a very violent process in this particular case."

"Why?" he burst out but he caught the look on Ralathor’s face and he sighed. "Can't tell me, right." He frowned slightly trying to put the fragments in order before he spoke. "Because it would be too much for me to handle?"

"Most likely. What happened to you three days ago was not supposed to happen, not yet. That you had driven yourself to the point of total exhaustion, however, may have been a trigger for this premature return of memory. That's my theory at least." With urgency breaking through the calm of his voice, he added, "Do not try to recreate this. This is a slow and agonizing process, I know, and you might be inclined to hasten the process now that you gained some of your memories back but I beg you, do not!"

Ralathor was serious. Angus had challenged or ignored his suggestions before and he had always taking it in stride, with a roll of his eyes, at best. This was different from those times, this was an honest plea that for once, Angus would truly listen to him.

The intensity of this request made it hard for Angus to answer and even harder to raise an objection. 

“But-” He halted, fishing for the right words to make what he wanted to say sound less accusatory. "I don't understand why this is so bad. People with amnesia don't die from getting their memories back."

"You don't have amnesia,” Ralathor cut his thought off. “Nobody hit you too hard on the head either." No ‘although not relevant, it’s up to debate’ or a, simple but classic, ‘not yet.’ Angus realized he expected a quip on his expense when it didn’t come. He longed for the familiar normalcy between them, their banter and dry jokes, but its absence made it abundantly clear that the situation was grim and ‘normal’ was light-years away. If they ever returned to what they had become used to as normal. Angus let go of any witty remarks and let Ralathor continue.

"What is happening to you is quite magical and quite natural at the same time."

Ralathor’s use of the word magical rarely had anything to do with rainbows and fairy tales, and more often than not carried a very serious connotation with it. 

"So what you're saying is, a spell happened and my brain shut down?"

"Yes. Something like that." Before Angus could ask further, Ralathor quickly went on, "Please, Angus, I promise, all of this will make sense to you in the end, but the only thing you need to do right now is to let your brain plow through what you now remember on its own time and let the rest come to you when it happens. Don't force it, just be patient."

The look they exchanged was heavy with the knowledge of both of them being quite aware that patience was a virtue the Prince of Fife was critically lacking in the best of times.

"Okay," he said nevertheless. He could try. For Ralathor's and, more importantly, his own sake, he probably should make his best effort.

"Thank you. You should try to get more sleep. Give yourself a bit more time." 

"How long do you plan to keep me drugged up?"

"No longer than necessary."

"Clear as coal."

"Sleep, Angus. I'll see you in the morning. If that is alright with you?" 

"Can't wait."

Ralathor stood up and looked at him for a moment longer, clearly thinking and, even more than that, still clearly worried. "You're still angry."

Angus groaned, sliding back onto the bed and dropping his head on the pillow. An action he regretted the instance - as he hit the soft pillow, pain in his head exploded into bright stars in front of his eyes. Massaging his forehead with his fingers he groaned, "I told you, It's not you, it's me."

"Indeed."

"Would you stop it?"

"But it is getting worse? You haven't answered me that." 

Angus let his hands drop to the mattress, squinting at him. He didn't like the tone in Ralathor’s voice at all. There was that thing again that he wasn't used to hearing from him. Uncertainty. 

Despite his headache and the drugs in his system, his mind pieced together a line of thoughts he really liked even less. Ralathor knew quite well of the reason and or source of his seemingly unnatural anger but he didn’t tell Angus that he’d get rid of it sooner or later because he wasn't sure if it ever would really go away.

"I don't know," Angus finally said. It was hard to judge the state he was in. In a way, he felt better after the involuntary rest but then again, he felt barely anything, and if that or whatever he was able to feel coming from himself or from the drugs, who could tell.

Ralathor must have come to a similar conclusion because before he left he just said "We should talk about it another time. Maybe in the morning."


	8. Chapter 8

Ralathor didn’t come to see him in the morning. 

He briefly considered misremembering their conversation but he was quite sure he didn't. 

There were a few facts in the universe that were irrefutable:  
  
Zargothrax was massively evil.   
Neutron Stars were quite scary.   
Dragons were just awesome.   
And when Ralathor said he’d do something, he would do it. 

"Did anything happen while I slept?" Angus asked when morning had definitely come closer to noon territory. The nurse looked at him puzzled - yes, he had spent enough time with these soldiers to read a puzzled face into the blank surface of their helmets. 

"Not that I'm aware of. Is everything alright?"

"I'm just…" Angus shook his head. "It's nothing." Carefully, he sat up and dragged his legs out of bed. "Can I go for a walk? I'm getting sore laying around here."

"Oh, please do. Don't strain yourself and be back before 1300 for your checkup with the doctor, okay?" The nurse managed to hit a tone that was a technically impossible mix of military strictness and kindergarten teacher gentleness. 

"Sure thing." 

Standing up was less of a challenge than yesterday and his legs felt considerably less wobbly.

His feet slipped into a pair of practical slippers, provided by the medical staff. Their simple design fit the light fabric of the plain, white pajama they had put on him after his breakdown. For a moment, he considered to ask for something else to wear, preferably his own clothes or anything that didn’t scream freshly escaped from the sickbay. 

But that moment of self-consciousness about his appearance was more of a reflex than an urgency. Somewhere along the last weeks, his vanity had fallen victim to the question why to bother anymore with anything. More dead than alive, it twitched, but fell silent again immediately. After shadows, sadness, and tranquilizers - and Ralathor speaking with the clearness of a cat that never had given a straight answer to anyone in its life - Angus didn’t care to walk the submarine in this outfit. It was old news that he was having a problem. The jovial prince, the embodiment of optimism and confidence, haunting the hallways of the submarine in the middle of the night as a shadow of himself, that’s a secret that’s hard to keep, even if anyone attempted to try.

He left the sickbay and while in no hurry, he had a vague destination in mind. About three, actually. 

If Ralathor wasn’t in command at this time, he should either be in the commander’s quarterdeck office or in the mess hall for a late breakfast.   
The first two were close to each other so he went to the command deck first. 

Ralathor wasn't there. Angus asked the crewman whether they had seen Ralathor today or expected him during another shift and was informed that the commander hadn’t been on the command deck at all today. They also had no information about his actual whereabouts. 

So next he checked Ralathor’s office on the quarterdeck but it was empty, too.

Angus didn't worry too much about it yet. There was still one very likely place left and if that didn't pan out either, he might be in engineering. And if he wasn’t there, there were other possibilities. The submarine was big enough to easily lead a man with no knowledge of the recent shift schedule on a wild goose chase.

Several locations and many crewmen shaking their heads later, Angus walked into the mess hall. Finally, he began to feel a bit disheartened when he didn’t see Ralathor here, either. And it came worse - while the submarine was large enough for two men to closely miss each other a few times, visiting most of the relevant rooms and offices was hardly a marathon. But Angus was already short on breath and painfully aware of the sore muscles in his legs. It seemed like he wasn’t quite as all right as he had diagnosed himself yet. 

Feeling unobserved, he granted himself a moment to catch his breath and shake his legs to loosen the lurking muscle cramps. The chase wasn’t over, Ralathor had to be somewhere. The mess hall wasn’t known as a secondary communication hub for no reason, a kind euphemism for the central of gossip. Maybe someone here knew where Ralathor was. The prime suspect sat with a round of soldiers and was laughing quite heartly.

"Hey, Hootsman!"

Upon perceiving the call of his name, the King of Unst turned around and a pleasant look of surprise drew his brows up as soon as he saw Angus.

"Angus!" The Hootsman stood up to meet him halfway and greeted him with a solid grip on both his arms. "It's good to see you. How are you, my friend?"

"Good. Better, at least." Relatively speaking, that was somewhat true.

"Good, good. Come, have a seat, join us!" He gestured at the few empty chairs and put a hand on Angus’ back, already about to guide Angus to the table he came from.

"Listen, I'd love to talk,” Angus quickly said before the Hootsman roped him into whatever social interaction he just had emerged from. “But actually, Ralathor wanted to see me this morning and he didn't show up."

"Quite unusual."

"Yes!” So he was justified in being weirded out if the Hootsman agreed, a small thing that restored a bit of trust in his own mind. But so far, no help, and the exasperation about that curbed the enthusiasm. “Do you know where he is?" Angus prompted.

"I think he should be still in his room as far as I can tell. "

"Why? Is he sick?" Angus suddenly questioned if Ralathor even could get sick. He never considered that or witnessed so much as a snivel from the commander. Imaging him in bed with a cold, surrounded by the usual comforting remedies, seemed strangely wrong. Still, Ralathor wasn’t the type who withdrew to his room to put up his legs and relax in a moment of recreation, thus, looking where it would have been quite obvious for most inhabitants of the submarine hadn’t crossed his mind. 

"Nah.” He dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “He's been kind of on the lost-in-thoughts side of things the last few days. You know, the kind when he bunkers up to be alone with his brooding. Barely seen him. But maybe you  _ should _ go check on him, he will be glad to see you up and about again,” Hootsman suggested as if their whole conversation was meant to strengthen Angus’ resolve to find Ralathor. Words of encouragement by a god for the good prince who embarked on a quest and had yet to come close to the end of it.

"Yeah. Thanks man." Angus patted the Hootsman’s shoulder and was ready to leave.

"Good luck!” He nodded sagely. “Careful up there! Don't touch anything you wouldn't put in your mouth."

"What-” Angus removed his hand from his shoulder and squinted. “That is such a strange saying, I don't even want to know where that comes from." 

The Hootsman only grinned and Angus left the mess hall.

After a few steps he stopped, his thoughts tumbling into a whirl. The conversation with the Hootsman had left him slightly amused. However, once out of his cheerful aura and back to being alone with himself, the lifted spirits quickly faltered again. No, they didn’t just falter. They were falling into a bottomless pit.    
A sudden flare up of unjustified anger boiled from his stomach and streamed into every fiber of his being. Angus hadn’t been aware for how granted he had taken the last hours of clarity when his mind was crumbling under a dizzy spell. He leaned against the wall, the cool metal against his back giving him enough control to close his eyes.

For a few moments, he had been almost his old self. Wandering the submarine, greeting crewmen, having a chat with his friend - what had felt delightfully normal was nothing but a false sense of security that had been taken away from him within seconds. And losing that only to fall back, back into angry despair without a warning was worse than the existence in constant anger before. It held him in a stronger grip and felt much, much more threatening.

There was irrational anger at the Hootsman, suddenly thinking that nothing of what that man had said was very helpful and on top of disrespecting his time, it wasn’t even very funny.   
Anger at Ralathor, for abandoning him this morning and making him run around and search for him like a fool.    
Finally, anger at himself and the time he wasted bothering so much.

_ Come now, that’s not how anything of it is and you know it. _

Yeah, he knew that. Didn't change a thing, though. There was nothing rational about it, that much he had realized by now. He might as well go back to the sickbay and ask the nurse for another round of their sleep cocktails and wait for this storm to blow over. The prospect of seeing Ralathor in this state was quite unappealing - the odds they would end up fighting was too high.

But through all his anger against the universe and self-loathing - he was still worried.

"Get a grip, McFife" he mumbled to himself, channeling his anger against his own doubts as he bounced himself off the wall. With quick steps, he made his way back to the private quarters where not only his own but also Ralathor’s rooms were located. 

If anyone had witnessed Angus stomping to Ralathors cabin with the grimmest of expressions on his face, they’d have feared he was on his way straight to murder. His brows drew deep shadow over his eyes and his firm steps echoed from the walls with unyielding determination. The white pajamas that would look as non-menacing as could be in any other situation flattered loosely around him, distorting the image of a prince on the mission to forcefully right a wrong, and painting him as the unpredictable mental patient that he felt he had become. 

But nobody set off the alarm to sic all available security units after him and he reached Ralathor’s door undisturbed.

Angus took a few deep breaths and rang the buzzer.    
He did so two more times. Then, he knocked hard.   
And as there was absolutely no reaction, no stir or sound, his anger suddenly was drowned by worry. Sure, there was the possibility that Ralathor had just left recently and they missed each other again. But that was unlikely. If the Hootsman said Ralathor was here, then he was here. 

He knocked again.

Still no answer.

Buzzing and knocking didn’t lead him anywhere. He could call, shout, kick and pummel the door until his knuckles hurt. But either Ralathor couldn’t hear him or he didn’t want to hear him. Going on a rampage against the door wouldn’t help the first and if it was the latter - Ralathor wasn’t one to indulge tantrums. Of course, it was possible he wasn’t there after all and Angus would make himself look like an idiot. And if it was the first, if an event of such magnitude happened that Ralathor was incapable of hearing - or answering - him, making himself look like an idiot would be the last thing that could help him.

After a brief moment of consideration, worry won against the other options and Angus resorted to a solution he’d only choose if he feared a friend’s life was at stake.

He entered the short four digit code into the panel and the door slid open. 

He’d never abuse his status to acquire such private information for selfish reasons. But in a past that felt ancient nowadays, he had stood in front of this very door with Ralathor many nights, exchanging a few last words before nighttime. Ralathor would open his door in front of Angus’ eyes without thought or hesitation and in his heart, Angus knew it wasn’t because he expected Angus to look away or wanted to test him or something in that vein. Ralathor hadn’t cared because it didn’t matter to him whether Angus knew or not. 

In return, Angus had never used it to invite himself in. In fact, he had never been in Ralathor’s room, invited or not.

The commander's cabin wasn't much larger than his own. It was, however, considerably more cramped with countless objects stuffed into every available space.    
Instantly, his eyes were drawn to a small shelf right beside the door and the purple, glowing crystal hovering a few inches in the air above it. Almost reflexively he lifted his hand, his fingertips stopping only a few hairs away from it. He could barely contain his curiosity, struggling against the urge to touch the shiny thing to see if it would bounce back.

The Hootsman’s odd advice whispered inside his head and he dropped his hand. Maybe there was valid wisdom in it after all and Angus didn’t have to be a god or wizard to know that sticking unknown glowing crystals into his mouth was a bad idea. And be it as it may, the memory of those words had certainly ruined the magic of the moment. 

He turned away from the shelf and barely knew where to look next. Technical and magical instruments that looked like tools and tools that looked like instruments were fixed to the wall and piling up all over the place. Some ancient as the universe, others seemingly from a future he doubted he would live long enough to see.    
Books were stacked carelessly on data tablets and yellowed piles of books were weighted down by data tablets stacked on top. There was clearly an attempt at order in this chaos, but it was fighting an unwinnable war against the sheer amount of objects trying to find their place in the room.

  
The smell of old paper and the faint scent of herbalism mixed with a strange chemical note lay heavy in the air. Piles of glasses, jars, and phials created adventurous structures that were held together by either ancient magic or sheer, dumb luck, the only two forces known to defy gravity at times. 

Angus was in disbelief. Alluring as this wonderland of artifacts was, he couldn’t believe that this fragile chaos was staying in place instead of collapsing in itself and covering the room in shattered glass, given how many beatings the DSS Hootforce had endured in the past. 

In all their time together, Ralathor hadn’t reflected this side of himself at all. Always neat, always the epitome of stoic discipline, always smelling - did he even have a smell? If so, it certainly wasn’t that of a lost library or a turned-over medicine cabinet. 

Despite feeling like he was lost in time, all this washed over his senses in a matter of seconds and being the only thing that wouldn’t quite fit in, the master of this chaos stuck out like a sore thumb. It took Angus only a moment to spot Ralathor.    
He was fast asleep, his upper body spread over the writing desk. 

"Ralathor!" Angus barely rose his voice above a whisper and yet still felt like an intruder. Who knew when it had been the last time someone spoke in this room, unless Ralathor had a habit of talking to himself, which was difficult to imagine.

“Ralathor?” he tried again.

Still no reaction. Angus had stepped close enough to see the low and steady raising of Ralathor's upper body. He was breathing! A sign that filled him with equal parts with relief and irritation. He was undeniably glad that nothing serious had happened to Ralathor or that he wasn't avoiding him. He had probably just stayed up too long and fallen asleep at the desk. Working too much didn't seem unlike him. That he slept in however was. That was far from the worst but there was still something up.    
At the same time, Angus was also undeniably annoyed that he had worried and ran through half the ship in search of Ralathor just to find him asleep. 

He was about to shake him awake. Normally, a mere touch should do, but the man seemed to have a disturbingly deep sleep and Angus wasn't surprised neither knocking or calling had woken him up, and he could use the excuse to let off some of his irritation by giving him a good, hearty shake.    
But Angus’ hand stopped in mid air as his eyes wandered over the desk. 

The data tablet to Ralathor’s left had gone into standby and hid whatever Ralathor had been studying behind a black screen, but several ancient looking books with waxen pages and leathery backs lacked the ability to shield their content. Something he had glimpsed at from the corner of his eye drew his attention. 

Angus didn’t understand a word. He didn’t know the languages they were written in and was unable to decipher the array of signs that he had never seen before. 

What didn't require any translation, however, were the pictures, clearly drawn by hand with ink many, many centuries ago. The one on the left, a bowl of some sort with fine engraving standing on a pedestal was of no meaning to him - but on the right page, it was the picture of a blade that had stopped him in his move. A dagger of unsettling design, spiked and scaled, ending in a curved point.

He staggered backwards. 

He knew that blade, and had seen it before. Almost subconsciously, his hand reached for his chest.

Something was clawing at the back of his mind, growing behind a wall that was just not tall enough to seal it away forever. He realized he had made a terrible mistake coming here but it was too late. 

"Ralathor…" His voice a mere whisper, he barely heard himself speaking. His hand felt wet and sticky and as he looked down the entire front of the white shirt was drenched in blood. The panic that engulfed him was cold and disturbingly...calm. A fact of ungraspable horror that settled on his shoulders and weighted him down.   
In trance, he stared at his hand and took in the pain radiating from his chest - and that evil darkness that followed it.

He felt the heat burning against his skin, fire dancing in front of his eyes, almost blinding him. 

"I  _ am  _ dead-" He was pushed to his knees without even noticing, his hands shaking, his voice but a whisper. "You lied to me…"

Frustration, anger, and panic drove tears to his eyes. Nothing made sense anymore. The trust in his friend and that everything would be fine one day shattered. It was all a lie. 

He saw himself at the mountain _ ,  _ exhausted, wounded and bleeding. The Hootsman rushed towards him. How could a victory feel so terrible - he saw in the face of the others what he already knew. That cursed blade glistered under the fiery sky next to the rocks where its owner had found his death.

He heard himself trying to speak to Ralathor. He couldn't see the DSS Hootsforce in the sky anymore, all he heard via the coms was low static. He tried again, and again, but Ralathor did not answer. A strangling fear overtook his body. The Hootsman spoke to him, helping him up. At the Hootsman's objection, he pushed his arm away. There was no other option.

He tried to reach Ralathor again - his mind clinging to the mere hope that it was only a failure of the communication systems. 

There was still no answer. The inferno in front of him. The only thing he could do. Dying. To save the galaxy from another evil.

_ No. Stop! _

Angus was breathing hard, taken aback by the urgency of his own thought. Listening to himself. 

_ I'm not dead! There is an explanation! _

The panic faded, so did the frustration - what was left was the anger. And it was growing, quickly. 

_ I'm sick of hearing that.  _

He stood up, his legs still felt like they would give in any moment but he stood.

_ I'm sick of it all.  _

His fists trembled from the tension. He had listened to Ralathor, had tried to see his point, had even accepted it but now all that was gone. With two decisive steps he was back at the desk and with unknown force, he grabbed the still peacefully sleeping man at his shirt and pulled him up violently.

Or at least that had been his intention. What happened only a fraction of a second after he had taken hold of the Commander came utterly unexpected to him. Although he should have known better as to wake a sleeping wizard like this. But he didn't, not when his every thought was commanded by rage.

The entire room exploded around them. A blast knocked Angus backwards and smashed him hard into a shelf. It was torn off the wall, jars broke, the shattering noise hailing down on Angus. The smell of smoldering fabric and lose papers whirled through the air for a moment. Lightning danced in front of Angus' eyes.

"Angus! What the- what are you- lords, I'm sorry, are you alright?" Ralathor’s voice switched from anger to confusion and, finally, to worry within this one sentence. The unnatural glow of is eyes fading into black again.

Angus clenched his teeth and pulled himself up again. More glass containers and knickknacks slid from now askew shelves to the ground and broke into pieces.

"Angus?"

He raised his head and met Ralathors eyes. The magical blast Ralathor had fired at him and the close proximity to it had left the commander quite disheveled looking. Logically, Angus knew that with bare fists, he stood no chance against Ralathor, there was no sense in attacking him and it was all kinds of wrong. He knew all that, but as in his initial assault on him, he really didn't care. He didn't want to. What he wanted was to wipe that stupid look of worry of the commander’s face. How dare he feigning concern now when he was the root of all his misery!

"Angus. Talk to me." 

Angus didn’t talk to him. He lunged forward, his fist raised. Ralathor dodged out of his way but sluggish reminders of sleep slowed down his reflexes. He avoided a hit to his face but Angus fist connected hard with his shoulder. In the caused momentum, it was now Ralathor who crashed against the shelf behind him. Books toppled down on them and the tall shelf came dangerously close to falling over and burying both of them beneath it. 

"Angus stop!"

But Angus didn't. Far more awake, Ralathor managed to dodge the second hit completely. There was no tactic or combat prowess in these punches, just fists thrown at him in blind madness. 

"I'm sorry about this." 

Angus barely had time to process these words. He barely saw the genuine irritation in Ralathor’s face as the wizard raised his hands on which the magical markings began to glow. A flash hit Angus' entire body, its power sizzling through his veins and electrocuting his nerves. As if somebody had flipped a switch, his brain shut down.

He was instantly knocked out.

*

Angus.

"Angus?"

The familiar voice dragged him from the darkness of his unconsciousness. A rather cold hand touched the side of his heated face.

His eyelids fluttered and he felt a tingling all over his body. He could barely make out the face leaning over him. Once again, he was lying helplessly on a metal floor. Faintly, he wondered how he had ended up like this, when staring at the ceiling after being knocked unconscious had become just another thing to do on Mondays. 

His tongue felt heavy as he tried to speak and didn't manage more than a groan.

"Are you calm?"

He just groaned more. God, even if he wanted to, he couldn't commence his body to do as much as lift a finger. Everything hurt, first and foremost his pride, followed by every single muscle in his body on a close second place.

"I'm warning you, I will do this again if I have to."

Angus didn’t doubt he would. 

He felt tired, looking past Ralathor again at those ceiling panels that had become a very familiar sight. Almost unnoticeable, he shook his head, biting his lower lip. This was pointless. So fucking pointless. 

“What happened?” 

He had expected irritation, maybe even disdain from Ralathor’s voice, but the only thing he heard was genuine concern, his tone downright gentle. It made him look back at the commander. 

“I am dead,” he finally said, his words slurred as he still hadn’t much control over his muscles. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am!” He raised the volume of his voice as much as possible, and he would have shouted if only he would have been able to. As it was, the only thing he managed to do was to lift an arm and take hold of Ralathor's. “It was that knife!” 

At the last words, Ralathor’s eyes twitched to his desk and he instantly realized what had happened. 

“I died because of it… I - I-” No matter what Ralathor claimed, Angus did remember it. A cold shudder took hold of his body, his lungs tight as his memories were pulled into vivid imagination and he was burnt alive.    
“I died,” he ended weakly. Because in the end, that was the only thing that was really true. The only thing he really couldn’t wrap his head around. 

“Come.” Ralathor held out his hand and Angus took it. Without help, he doubted he would have been able to stand up, let alone walk. Probably suspecting that much, Ralathor didn’t guide him all the way back to the sickbay and instead, led him to the desk. Balancing Angus with one arm, he pulled up his chair and let Angus sit. 

Almost dreamlike, Angus followed Realtor’s hands as they reached for that cursed book. He pulled it right in front of Angus and pointed at the page with the drawing of the dagger, all but forcing him to look at it again. 

“You remember it.” 

“Yes.” Although it wasn’t a question, Angus confirmed. His brain refused to look at it directly as if that would help him escape from his inevitable fate. He fixed his gaze on the crudely drawn picture of that inconspicuous looking bowl on the opposite page. He didn't even want to know what it might do if this nightmare was the result of the knife. 

“Do you know what it does?” 

“I-” He halted. His gut reaction was to say ‘Something evil’ but even though he intrinsically knew that was true, he didn’t say it. In truth, he could barely think. He was still fighting to suppress the images and feelings pulsing inside his brain, caused by his own death. “I think so.” 

“The knife of evil. An ancient creation and powerful device of timeless wizardry, in our ignorance, seemingly only capable of nothing but evil. A single stab able to reprogram the victim’s basic sense of self, corrupting their desires and dreams, turning them into a mere puppet of evil intent.” 

Angus looked up at Ralathor, mesmerized by the pure disdain in the man's voice, maybe even more than that, maybe even disgust.

Angus' hand once more reached for the lower part of his chest, grabbing his shirt, pressing below his sternum. The very place he had seen himself being impaled. Where he had seen the blood soaking his hands. He had been so angry for being denied the truth and now that he was about to hear it, he wished he had never pursued it. But he had crossed the point of no return, he had awakened the memories and he sensed that if there was the faintest chance for him to change his fate, he had to listen to all of it.

“Angus, you died in the fire of Schiehallion when the curse of the knife started to take hold of you.” Ralathor paused. He suddenly seemed very, very tired as he turned around, leaning against the desk, no longer looking at Angus. “I just wished I had known before how deep that corruption would reach in this short a time.” 

“What… are you saying?” Angus heard himself ask but he understood what Ralathor was saying. Every spark of his soul understood. Nothing he heard was a revelation to him, it was like Ralathor reminded him of something he had just forgotten over time.    
The pain, the anger, the frustration. That part of him that didn’t seem himself, which he had never been. 

“I brought you here to heal. To return home with me when the time was right.” Ralathor didn’t seem to be speaking to him anymore. 

“Ralathor.” 

“I didn’t anticipate any of this. And I’m so sorry for it.” A grim finality and deep resentment coloured Ralathors words. “I’ve been overconfident, cocky even - and now I’m in over my head and you have to suffer for my ignorance.”

“Stop.” 

Finally, the commander looked at him. God, how he hated to see that pain in Ralathor’s eyes. Even if hope died last, that look was what would strike the killing blow. 

“Am I going to be alright?” he asked, but once more, he already knew the answer. He just had to hear it to believe it. 

“I just don’t know.” 

The words hung heavy in the air. The only thing worse than inevitable death. Uncertainty.

He understood perfectly well that that cursed blade had corrupted his very soul, that it was the reason for all the suffering he was going through. And yet, it still didn’t make sense how he was even sitting here, asking confused questions and calmly listening to the answers. How could a dead man ask if he was losing his life?

“How am I here? What -” He frowned, the question seemed stupid but it was the only way he could phrase it right. “What am I?”

Ralathor let out a sigh. “What is clear to me is that you can't go on like this, so what I'm about to do now will answer at least that question. I hope it will help. At this point, there is really no better option.” In lieu of a straight answer, he grabbed Angus’ head, the bottom of his palm pressed against his forehead. Angus had only a brief, surreal moment to be perplex - 

and his mind exploded into memories from not long ago and none of them were his.


	9. Chapter 9

The sun was burning down onto him. It was a beautiful day to shake off his responsibilities for one afternoon and enjoy life for what it was in the garden. But sure as night followed day, the pleasant weather guaranteed that he wouldn’t stay by himself for long. Yet, there was something in the approaching steps that didn’t sound like a leisure stroll in the early afternoon.

The man walking up to him was cast in a hard shadow. Angus raised his hand to shield his eyes from the aggressive light. 

He smiled lightly. A moment passed and the smile died on his face. An unsettling feeling came over him. 

It was strange enough to see the man here - the few times he had met the Kingmaker, it had been on Galast and as far as he knew, the Kingmaker was rarely seen anywhere else but in his beloved grove. Not only that he left it but also the planet seemed highly unusual. But that was actually not the reason for his bewilderment. 

“Ralathor?” He had to ask. The man walking up to him was the man he knew, at least it was the face he knew. He couldn’t really put a finger on it, maybe it was only the very unfamiliar clothing he wore, maybe the fact that the beard was different, or the hair being a lot longer. Maybe everything together. But he had met the Kingmaker a few times and he was somehow absolutely certain that this wasn’t him. 

The man that looked like Ralathor reached him. Angus guessed the run down black uniform must be hell to wear in this heat but the man didn't look like the exhaustion in his face was caused by the temperature. He looked spend like he had just emerged from battle, at more than one place the uniform was torn and covered by a thin layer of dust.

“Can we talk?” he asked and Angus ever so slightly tilted his head. 

“Sure. If you tell me who you are.” 

There was a miniscule and tired smile under the dark mustache. “Always knew you to be a sharp one. May I?” He gestured towards the stone railing Angus was sitting on.

“Sure.” He watched the might-be-Ralathor sit down. “So?”

“We have met before. You know me, but you are right to notice that I’m not the man you’ve previously interacted with. I’ve come here from another reality to ask a favour of utmost importance of you, Prince Angus.” 

Angus could only smirk and shake his head. “Okay. What is it?”

Truth to be told, he had always liked that man, or rather, more precisely, the mystery surrounding him. This one, at least kept the mystery alive, too. He was inclined to believe him from the get go, he had been taught to do that with the Kingmaker. Even when the things he said were as far fetched or ridiculous as they could be, everyone knew, there had to be something to them. So if he said he was Ralathor from another reality, he was willing to suspend his disbelief and accept it as the truth. Maybe he was too naive in this regard, but nobody was here to tell him that.

The moment of silence that followed surprised him and he looked at the Kingmaker, bemused that he saw a downright satisfied look on the other man's face. 

“What?” 

“You really are disturbingly similar to the Angus in my reality.”

“Oh? Is that so? How is my alternative me doing then?” 

Finally, the other shoe dropped - Ralathor's face became serious. “That’s the reason why I’m here. You’re very much alike, the two of you. That is why I need your help in particular.” 

There was something amusing about the way this conversation had obviously gone exactly the way the other had planned it to go, and Angus was willing to indulge him. He did sense, however, that whatever the cause for this visit was no laughing matter 

“Help with what?”

“My Angus is going to die.” 

There was a sentence he never imagined he would hear. Angus blinked, looking at the alternative reality Ralathor. 

“I’m sorry?” he tried, but what was he supposed to say to that, really? In an universe with a multitude of worlds, wonders and galaxies, the concept of multiple universes was easy to believe. The idea of multiple him, leading similar lives and some maybe not so similar - not the kind of truth he’d question but it was far out there, an idea, a thought experiment, a series of possible and impossible “what if?” coming within reach and becoming less ridiculous.

The idea, however, that one “what if” meant death - not in the past, not in the future, but that he was dying right now? That, if he looked over his shoulder this very moment, he’d see the wrong turn he had taken in a universe to his left or right? 

A shudder ran down his spine and left him with the unsettling awareness of his own mortality and his heart thumping in his chest and his lungs de- and inflating with every breath, as if that now that he learned of another him dying, his own organs would collapse in his body any moment.

As to spite the discomfort his train of thought sparked, the birds kept singing carefree, a faint wind rustling softly in the trees. The scent of wild flowers lingered in the air carried up to the castle from the plains.

“That's why I have to ask, if you would be willing to lend me your body for a time?”

Once more he just blinked. His brain trying to connect the dots but deciding that the result it got to was too ridiculous to be true. He could just leave. That was a suggestion his brain accepted immediately, finally something easy to understand and as easy to execute. Turn around, leave, and explain the strange encounter away with a too long nap under the sun. Only, it was never this easy and as ridiculous as it all sounded, it wasn’t new. No truth older than the universe was ever new, it was just lost and returned with a reminder. 

Angus didn't feel like he was listening to the ramblings of a madman, a doppelganger with malicious intent. And as he was unable to deny what he just heard as true, the absurd request didn’t become less of a logical consequence only because Angus failed to fully grasp what it meant. 

“Explain yourself,” he demanded in lack of anything else to say. The man loved to be cryptic, he knew that, but he felt like this was one of the times cryptic wouldn’t cut it. 

Ralathor stared at the plains, the features of his face frowning under the weight of heavy thoughts. 

“In a few minutes, the Angus of my universe is going to die. He is walking to his doom as we speak. When this happens, as destiny wills it, I’ll attempt to bring him into this universe. His body must die, but he will live.” 

Angus raised his brows as the pieces were falling into place and it dawned to him what this was all about and why it happened now. “But only if you get my body?”

“Yes.” Ralathor nodded briefly. “There are many Angus in the multiverse but as I’m sure you begin to understand by now, you are similar enough to him to be a perfect fit. Let me assure you that I have no intention of replacing you. You are going to be his host and as you are so much alike, there isn’t much of a risk in a temporary co-existence in one body. This will only be a matter of weeks, maybe a few months. After that, we will return to our reality, and you will be yourself again.” 

“Why is it a matter of weeks, or months?” Explained like this, it almost sounded too easy to cheat death through an inter-dimensional loophole. But if that was true, it wouldn’t be the first time he heard of this being possible, let alone someone walking up to another suggesting to attempt this. There had to be a catch. 

“Angus has been inflicted with a terrible curse that has corrupted his body, which is the reason he has chosen to die any moment. When he comes here, he most likely won’t remember any of what happened. A human's death is a traumatic event, most would do good to avoid remembering.”

“I think most do, naturally.” 

“True.” 

Angus frowned slightly. He wiped a few drops of sweat from his upper lip. The sun was burning down relentlessly on them, unimpressed by their unbelievable conversation. His skin was hot and his head dizzy, almost vulgar sensations in contrast to the abstract things they were talking about, and he had never before felt so comforted by the heat of an approaching sunburn as a sign that he was well and alive.

“So, if I say no, he really dies?” Just to get this perfectly straight. 

“Yes.”

That man had nerves. As if he could be held responsible for his death in another reality. One Angus gone while he lived on unaffected. Or would have, if this Ralathor hadn’t put him on the spot like this.    
“And it’s just that. A few months of him in my body, then I’m good to go? That’s all? No risks attached?”

Ralathor remained quiet for a moment too long. Angus heart sank. Just when he thought there was only one answer no matter how many questions he asked to delay giving it, Ralathor had to hesitate and fuel his doubts. 

“At this level of magic, there are always risks. If all goes as planned, you’ll leave with me and the next thing that you will remember is me bringing you back here when all is over. Your consciousness will be asleep during the whole time. Maybe some of what he experiences will bleed into your dreams for a while - but you should be in no danger.” 

Always risks. If. Maybe. Should not.    
This was just vague enough to make what sounded like a long nap with weird dreams like one of the most dangerous challenges he had faced. However, it was this lack of comfort the answer offered that convinced Angus that Ralathor was honest with him, whatever that was worth when they planned to defy death. 

Angus pondered over the request for a moment.

“We don’t have much time left.” 

Angus, in his heart, already knew the answer. Probably had made it up at the first inquiry of help. 

”Of course I’ll help.” 

“You’re a good man, Angus. I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“That only means there is the possibility that something could happen to me.” 

For a moment their eyes met. He knew that this could be dangerous as much as it was ridiculous, but in all his previous interaction with this man he had never found a reason to mistrust him. 

Ralathor stood up. 

“Come.” Ralathor held out his hand. “We need to hurry now.”

“What about my family?” 

“I’ll explain all to them in due time, as soon as Angus is safe. I promise, I won't let them suffer in worry.” 

After that there was no hesitation as he grabbed the other man's hand. He was needed to help, so that was what he was going to do. 

The sun heated the slap stones of the walkway, filling the flimmering air with an earthy scent that was barely noticeable below the flowery smell of the plains. Through the thin fabric of his sandals, it felt like he was walking over glowing embers. 

Ralathor seemed pleased. "Thank you."

Angus almost smiled. And then the world around him exploded into light. Blinding and horrifyingly beautiful for just a fraction of a second before he faded into nothing. 

Swallowed by darkness for an undetermined amount of time. 

First pulled into a distant dream of subconsciousness when he felt his body screaming for rest, pushed to it’s utter limits by someone that wasn’t him. 

And then, suddenly, awake.

*

“Angus? Can you hear me?” 

With eyes wide open, he was staring at nothing. His mind was overwhelmed by a sensation that was utterly foreign to him - his whole self was duplicated and he became aware of the other and knew that at the same time, the other was aware of him.    
He understood the dread and confusion of the other as he was feeling the same as he remembered his whole life and a whole life he had never lived, just like the other did. 

He was himself again and he wasn’t himself at all. He was not more or less and everything he thought about himself made absolutely no sense.

“Angus? Shit-” 

Angus heard the low muttering voice of Ralathor and finally blinked, looking at him, for a brief moment his mind - minds? - was very clear. 

“Did you just curse?” 

“Are you alright?” 

There should be a simple answer to that, but as he now tried to speak, one part of him trying to say “yes” the other asking if this was bad, his brain simply agreed with itself to say nothing at all.

“Okay, you’re at least calm enough. This is probably overwhelming as it is without additional stress - but you two have to get to work together as quickly as possible.”

“Why?” Angus was surprised that the word even came from him - but it was the only real question to ask at that moment. 

“Because there was a good reason to keep one of you unconscious. You two share this one body, if you don’t focus on one singular goal you won’t even be able to walk - or talk for that matter as you may have already noticed. Furthermore, from this moment onwards, you two will start to bleed into each other's consciousness, effectively killing your true selves at some point.” Ralathor explained downright factually, but couldn’t hide the tension in his voice.

_ What are you doing? You told me to take it slow just yesterday! _

_ Oh my god, he’s really grasping at straws. _

Angus stayed silent as a wave of terror rolled over him. This was worse than dying. If what Ralathor said was true and it happened to him - them -  _ he _ would never die. He’d simply disappear.

“We will know when it starts and if it does, I will have to separate the two of you, whether we're ready or not. You only have this one chance. Once you reach that point, it’s over. There is no second chance.”

His head felt hot and feverish. 

“Nothing of this was planned, this is already going way too fast and unexpectedly, the knife had enough time to start corrupting you before you died. But now that you already remember your death we have to keep moving - and I fear if you don't learn to manage your anger soon it might consume you after all. My hope is, that you will be able to balance this imbalance in yourself with the help of the other Angus. Steady yourself when you feel like losing control because this reality's Angus is not afflicted. May it be only for a few days, but I need that time.”

Ralathor said too much, too quick, Angus barely processed half of it. What he did understand though made some twisted kind of sense, so he nodded. And the concept that he was only able to do that because both of him decided to do that right now slowly started to sink in. Ralathor had been right, they were very much alike, he could sense it. It had saved them until this point and from here, their similarities might become their downfall.

“Take a moment. You’ll need it.”

There was a long moment of silence. It was different than before when Angus had refused to speak to Ralathor. Now, he simply couldn’t. There were many things to say, questions to ask, but his brain failed to put the fragments together into separate, coherent sentences and didn’t even try to orchestrate the action of speaking.    
Ralathor, on his part, was lost in thoughts. It was maybe that, the realization that Ralathor of all people was unsure about what to do, that was the most unsettling thing Angus had experienced in his life. Of course, that was rather hyperbolic of him, given that he had died rather gruesomely but that memory was too fresh and his mind tried its best to suppress this truth. Unfortunately, with only moderate success.

Strangely enough, as he did think about his death, he felt a sense of distance to it that was comforting. He knew it had happened to him, but he could look at it as if it hadn’t and for once, their states of minds, as temporarily as it hopefully would be, felt like a blessing.

“If this doesn’t help. If even with his help you can't fight this curse... There is one last option. But it’s a dangerous one.”

He turned to Ralathor who avoided his questioning look and instead focused on the book that was the root of this mess. It was still open, its pages once more displaying the drawing of the Knife of Evil.

“It might even kill you.”

But what was he to do with that information, really? It wasn’t up to him anymore what was going to happen to them. The moment he had accepted Ralathor’s hand to follow him, he had given the control over his life in his hands as well. Over his, and over the life and death of him, no, the other.

Ralathor only sighed, not telling him any more. 

"Come. I'll get you back to medical."

Ralathor stood up and Angus struggled to follow the act. As Ralathor was about to grab him by the arm he barely managed to take hold of it.

Pressing his eyelids shut he tried to focus.

"Can I - my own room?" he said very slowly and deliberately. 

"Of course. I'll notify the doctor." When Ralathor helped him stand up, Angus was barely able to support his own weight, but the Commander didn't waver a moment.

Slowly, they made their way to Angus' cabin.

Ralathor left him with some brief words of encouragement.

Then he was alone. 

But not really.


	10. Chapter 10

Most of the short walk back to Angus’ room remained blurry. 

He remembered Ralathor’s help to keep standing upright at all; Angus couldn’t coordinate his legs at all and without Ralathor’s firm grip, he would have slumped to the ground. The second thing he remembered was how surreal it felt to have lost control over his body like this. The strength was there. He wasn’t immobilized, the connection between nerve system and limbs was intact. And yet, he had a fully functioning brain that knew what to do but was clueless at what to do with the information while his legs, equally clueless on their own, simply did - nothing. 

It was like one of those nightmares where he knew where to go, he could see the goal with no obstacle in front of him and yet, moving was like phasing through an invisible brick wall. Ralathor could do the best job as it was in his powers to bring his insane plan to a happy end, Angus would never in his life forget how he was caught helplessly in this surreal moment.

He barely noticed when Ralathor left or if he had said anything before he was gone. The doctor was with him at some point but when it was or for how long...time was neither of meaning nor importance once he had fallen asleep.

As he woke up later, he found himself bound to his bed by no other restraint but his own mind in a twisted kind of déjà vu. There was no shadow lurking above him and his heart didn’t threaten to implode under the pressure of depression this time. In a way, experiencing this with a clear mind was almost worse. But he wasn’t as helpless. Unlike the other times, he was in control - or could be. It was only harder than it was supposed to be.

_ Let's start small, what say you? Standing up, getting dressed. Should be easy enough, right? _

He thought to himself with no idea if it would help at all. 

_ All right. Okay. That's it. _

He sat up and took a deep breath before pushing himself off the bed. Stretch legs, no, knees not that stiffly, straight back, at least somewhat. No, stop interfering, trust his sense of balance to figure out the rest.

And for a moment, he felt ridiculous. Because when his body, well, his mind was in compliance, there was nothing remarkable about the fact that he just managed to stand up. Carefully, he made his way over to his closet and opened it. Okay, that worked a little better already. Time to up the ante and turn into a respectable looking human being!   
In a slightly uncomfortable revelation he realized that he didn't even remember how he had gotten undressed in the first place.

But the moment he wanted to raise his arm to pull out a shirt, nothing happened. 

_ We're fighting over fashion sense now, is that it? _

But there was no fighting, not really. There weren't even two voices right now. There was just him and the fact that he wanted one thing and made two conflicting decisions. 

Choice, he realized, had become his greatest weakness. Fortunately, he figured that out over a shirt and not over something of higher stakes like, well, the lives of his friends or the fate of the universe.

After a moment of focus, he grabbed a pair of pants first, as there was not much choice there and put them on. 

_ All that happened is just terrible. _

Angus sighed. A strange sensation of self-pity overcame him but also empathy. He felt sorry for himself like he would for a loved one, only closer.

_ I wish there was more I could do. _

He looked up and used his hand to brush his hair out of his face. 

It wasn't just the pity for himself he thought about. As it faded, he remembered his childhood and life up to this point. And at some point it wasn't his anymore. He remembered an idyllic earth unscared from war and terror. A kingdom ruled fairly under the hand of an benevolent king where his greatest danger in his day to day was the mandatory and harmless combat practice that came with his training to take the throne some day.

A part of him was envious of those memories that were in turn the reason for that other part to pity him. 

They might have shared a name and a body, now quite literally, even personalities to a degree, but their lives couldn't have been more different. Distracted by these thoughts, he didn't realize how he proceeded to put on a shirt and brush his hair properly as his brain recognized the routine of these tasks and allowed itself to go into autopilot.

_ No wonder you are so angry. _

Angus halted, just barely shaking his head in disagreement with himself. 

_ It's never been that. _

_ But I'm sure it didn't help. You lost everything... _

_ I did. _

_ I feel silly now.  _

Angus even smiled weakly. He didn't have to ask why, of course he knew. Memories of a boy dreaming of being a hero and fighting evil, placed in a world that didn't want to give him a chance to do either. 

He thought about Ralathor, how he most likely had been very aware of this fact and had chosen him precisely because of it. Because he had known he'd jump on the chance to be that hero, to save someone for real, leaving a true impact on the history of  _ someone _ , in a heartbeat.

"Are we calling that wise or calculating now?" Angus mumbled to himself which after he realized that he did so filled him with a great sense of relief. He knew he had managed to talk once or twice yesterday, but any conscious effort had gone without success so far.

_ Let's get breakfast. I'm starving. _

*

"What are you looking at me like that for? You keep doing that." The Hootsmans voice was filled with amusement, leaning with his head on his hand. They had met in the mess hall and even before the hearty slap on the shoulder and the energetic handshake it had been decided that he would keep Angus company during his first meal of the day.

Angus frowned slightly. He put his fork down, taking a deep breath, tried to say something and failed. And failed again as he wanted to answer and absolutely did not at the same time because what he was about to say was stupid. Evil tongues may say that hadn't stop him in the past, but in this case, it was stupid and embarrassing and that just didn't work out for him.

He gave a frustrated grunt, grabbed his fork again and finally managed to say, "Can't tell."

"I'm just saying, the last person looking at me like that I ended up with-"

"Don't!" Angus raised his fork in warning and the Hootsmans booming laugh filled the room.

The truth was, that other part of him was in absolute awe in the Hootsmans presence and was of the opinion that the dude was just the coolest.

Which, as every part of Angus would conceive, was true, but telling his friend that, just out of the blue, would be weird. Hootsman could be an overwhelming joy to be around on a normal day and Angus refused to witness what would happen if he, with his face, voice, and in all his earnestness fawned over him like a starry-eyed admirer.

The Hootsman grabbed the dagger from his belt and one of the apples sitting in a bowl in the middle of the table. “You know how hard these are to get around here.” he said as he cut the fruit in half. “You think that was his deal on Galast? His reward? A galaxy-wide, bi-weekly delivery of fresh fruit?”

Angus only shrugged, watching the misused blade cutting like butter through the apple that, as he knew, wasn’t even technically an apple. Just looked somewhat like one.

“Anyways, look at you!" Hootsman leaned back, cutting one half into slices. "You seem to be dealing fine with this new setting. A bit quiet for my taste."

"You knew about all this?"

"Of course."

Of course. Angus was feeling a very distinct irritation starting to burn in his guts again. Words of betrayal, accompanied by the obnoxious moist noise of an apple being crunched between two straight rows of gnashing teeth. The dagger laying forgotten and unguarded between them on the table. 

But the anger didn't manage to take over his thoughts this time, which was a pleasant surprise for once. And maybe a first sign that Ralathor's theory could be right.

"Ralathor asked me to tag along when he brought you here, something about making sure you don't die for good I figured. And I really had nothing better to do." He shrugged, finishing the thought by eating another slice.

_ You're a true friend. _ He wanted to say in the most dry way he could but his brain wouldn't let him. 

"See, that's what I don't like. You're not firing back. You have to work on that."

"Trying."

"Try harder. Between you and me, Ralathor, love the man, but you just can't have a lighthearted reminiscing about past victories over too many drinks with him. He takes this stuff too seriously." 

"He's got a lot on his mind," Angus only said lowly, focusing more firmly on trying to actually eat his breakfast. 

"Aware of that." 

Angus halted. Looking up to the Hootsman, a inquisatory squint in his eyes. 

“Do you know what he needs me for?” 

“Nope. Omnipotence, not omniscience, remember.” The Hootsman shrugged. “Don’t know how he handles it anyways. Can you imagine?” 

No he could not. And hadn’t he just witnessed the one man he thought all knowing to be at his wits end? 

“Hootsman. Are there things you can’t do?”

The barbarian god king looked at him for a moment, stroking his beard, before he, almost nonchalantly, said, “Of course.” 

“But-.”

“Always remember, Angus, Gods are just people too. It’s just all about the marketing. Since I call you a friend, you should know that better than anyone by now.” 

Angus felt a guttural rejection at the mere thought and realized first a few seconds after the fact that it wasn’t really his own reaction. Apparently, devoted reverence required unconditional almightyness. He smiled weakly, closing his eyes for a moment, just collecting his thoughts. 

“Did I say something funny?” Hootman asked. 

“No. I’m just unusually religious right now.”

“Oh, I see. Sorry.” 

*

Seven days. 

Thoughtfully, Angus looked out of the oversized porthole into the magnificent vista of the universe that surrounded them. Of course, the window wasn’t a window, it was a screen. But it was a very convincing one. 

It had been seven days since he started to share his body with the alternative version of himself. And things had been so disturbingly unremarkable for most of it that it was barely worth mentioning - if the fact alone wouldn’t be remarkable. 

He had worked out and trained, he had joined the crew in the mess hall. He had taken part at the weekly review of the ship's agenda and the address to the crew. He even had left the ship for a bit. Three days ago, Ralathor had managed to get them into a situation Angus was still not sure the commander had planned for or not. If there had been a plan it was obvious that it had been thrown over the moment they had arrived at that remnant ship. 

Thinking about it still sent a shudder down his spine. He shook his head, trying to push those memories aside. It had been a sobering first real mission, with real stakes and lives on the line for the other - leaving him with a lingering feeling of being shell shocked like a fresh rookie all over again. 

Besides that, sometimes, he felt the anger within him starting to grow, but it couldn’t take over him anymore. 

“Angus.” 

He turned halfway as he heard the familiar voice.

“How are you doing?” Ralathor asked, joining him at the beautiful view-port. 

“I’m good,” Angus said and he barely had to think about it. Talking had become a lot easier, especially since they began to experience the same things and interactions on the submarine.

“Glad to hear that,” the commander said as his eyes seemed to get lost in the endlessness opening up before them.

Angus mustered the man for a moment and a hint of concern drew his browns deeper. Ralathor looked exhausted and tired. More so than ever. With deep circles under his eyes, his skin ashen. 

“How are  _ you _ ?”

“Tired.” 

“That’s how you look, too. I haven’t seen you since - that thing. What have you been up to?” 

“I will not explain to you what you will understand on your own soon enough.”

“Wow.” Angus raised his brows, strangely amused and - yes - irritated too. “Unsubtle, are we today?” 

“Forgive me. As I said, I’m tired.” Ralathor slightly shook his head with an exasperated sigh. “I’m making sure we’re ready for when you two have to part ways. It will be soon.” 

“How do you know?” 

Ralathor looked at him. Not answering for quite a while. Then he asked, “You want this to last?” 

Angus shrugged. He hadn’t spent much time on exactly that thought but he had gladly accepted that omnipresent sense of dread over his whole situation fading the more he got used to it. “Sure. I mean, I’m good. There is no bleeding over or anything - we’re good. This is okay. Getting more easy, too.” 

But to his surprise Ralathor didn’t seem relieved. Actually, he didn’t seem particularly happy at all to hear that.    
“Angus. You are two people. And only one of them is the one this body belongs to. The other does not belong here. The moment you think that this situation can stay like this, we’re having a problem, because then at least one of you began to forget how to live their own life.” 

A cold shudder ran down his spine at the icy look in Ralathor's eyes. 

“But when we separate…” he started, hesitating as he feared saying it out loud would make it true. “We don’t know if the anger would return.” Though that wasn’t true. It would and he knew so because it never had gone away. He had just found a way to handle it, and now Ralathor was already talking about taking that control away from him. Memories flooded Angus’ mind of him attacking the people he loved, losing his control, the pain his own death evoked and the images of what he had lost. The pain was bearable now, because he shared it.

_ It’s not his decision.  _

The thought lingered in his brain. And it took him a moment to realize what it meant. Because it wasn’t his decision either. 

“I understand.” 

Ralathor gave an appreciative nod, visibly relieved Angus wasn’t fighting him on this. 

"I'm sorry that I had to involve you like this. I mean, this reality’s Angus," Ralathor professed. "You know that was never my intention."

"It's okay," Angus answered. "Planning is good, but having a backup is better." He smiled lightly over his own words. It was that part of him that was so refreshingly optimistic. Scared, too, but nevertheless hopeful.

"True." Ralathor nodded. He watched the stars for a moment before he spoke again, “Tell me what led to your death, Angus.” 

Surprised Angus looked back at him, questions directed so clearly at only one of him still threw him a bit out of balance. “What do you mean?” 

“Tell me what you remember now. All of it.” 

“I thought you were tired.” 

“I’ve been tired for a long time, Angus. Start at the first thing you think led you here.”

He pondered over the question and began to sort through a flood of fragments of two pasts. It was more difficult than expected to work through different sets of memories and put what he found together correctly, without mixing the images and feelings up.

And then he started all the way at the beginning. 

Zargothrax escape from Triton, and the war that ensued afterwards. The destruction of the earth by the Hootsman’s sacrifice to save their reality and how he had followed the wizard through the wormhole into that corrupted universe. His own failings in that reality and the search for the resistance to fight Zargothrax. How he had found Ralathor and reforged his hammer’s strength. 

And that dreaded final battle of Dunkeld where he and the Hootsman finally were able to kill Zargothrax. 

He paused. The only thing that followed that was the injury he had taken by the knife of evil. And what he had done because of it. 

“What then?” 

“You know I remember that.” 

“Yes. What happened?” 

“Ralathor.” 

“Tell me.”

The sudden anger at Ralathor almost choked him and he was so taken aback by its force, it almost made him stagger. All under the very calculating gaze of the commander. 

With mostly gritted teeth he slowly continued

“I was stabbed by the knife of evil.” His heart hammered hard in his chest, the fire burnt in his stomach as to prove his words painfully true to a body that hadn’t even been there. “And as I knew what would happen to me, I decided to save the world from the consequences of me turning evil. I burned and died in the fires of Schiehallion.”

Palpable silence was hanging between them. Angus’ fingers twitched as he kept an uncomfortable intense eye contact to Ralathor whose face didn’t even flinch. 

“Indeed,” Ralathor finally said and just like that the spell was broken. Angus gasped as he took a deep breath the moment the tension fell from his shoulders.

“I have one more question.” 

“I doubt I can’t stop you asking, so shot.” 

“What do you regret the most of all that happened?” 

Angus hated the question.    
Not really the question itself or that Ralathor asked it. He’d have hated any question, now that he understood that Ralathor tested him in some way.

But that paled at the feeling of pain and grief the question evoked before his mind found the words to spell his regrets to even himself. He had died before he had a chance to deal with these pains, an act of mercy then.

And now, as he couldn’t hide that part behind the other self, what had happened lost any vagueness and the loss of life became real, the grief was stronger than in those grave seconds before his death. A new wound that was ripped into his heart. 

“I wish I could have saved my family.” he finally said, lowering his eyes. “It's still, I know it happened, but I - it all happened so quickly.” 

“It did. But your parents would be proud of the man you’ve become. What you’re going through now can’t take that away from you.” 

“I appreciate that.” He nodded softly, fighting the burning in his eyes. “I miss her a lot.” 

“Your mother?” 

“No. I mean of course, but, I mean my sister. I wish she could be here now. I can barely believe she's gone. That they all are.” 

He looked up when Ralathor stayed silent, trying to secretly wipe his eyes dry. He couldn’t read the expression on Ralathor’s face who then patted his shoulder before he left him alone with his pain. “I'm sorry.” 

Angus looked after him and after a few steps, Ralathor stopped abruptly. With his back still to Angus, lowering his head a bit, then raising it again in an internal struggle. 

“Angus. Your sister didn’t die on earth. She couldn’t. In our reality, you don’t have a sister.” 

Reluctantly Ralathor looked back at him, a painfully realization in his face. “You’re starting to bleed into each other.” 

“No I- I meant-” 

Ralathor closed the distance between them with a few decisive steps until he was inches away from Angus’ face.    
Angus was incapable of saying anything while the commander grabbed his arm. 

“You need to come with me. Now.” 

“But-”

“No, Angus. I’m sorry.” 


	11. Chapter 11

It felt like a dream. 

A terrible, confused and hectic dream where he suddenly was to face unknown realities. 

Ralathor pulled him halfway through the ship where the Hootsman joined them. Ralathor said only a few words and the god-king understood. He already knew. Only Angus was kept once more in the dark. He was getting half used to it but what terrified him was that he had never seen such a grim look on the Hootsman’s face. 

In a surreal moment of fantastical light, Ralathor opened a portal to god knew where. Before Angus could ask where they were going, he was dragged through it, closely followed by the Hootsman. 

He had never seen this place before. Cold metal covered every wall and ceiling, not unlike the ship, but the all familiar comforting hum of the Hootsforce engine was missing. A creeping cold was slipping under his clothing. 

“Where are we?” he finally managed to ask through his confusion.

"Mezchinhar," Ralathor muttered "The Between."

"Between what?"

But nobody answered him.

They dragged him through endless corridors. One looked like the other. Angus looked in vain for any marks he could use for orientation and had soon to give up. If Ralathor and the Hootsman left him alone, he would have been lost in this metallic maze.    
Once, he thought he saw a figure disappearing around another corner. Another time, he could have sworn the figure was Ralathor if it wouldn't be for the fact that the Commander was still walking in front of him. 

Finally, Ralathor and Hootsman led him through a set of doors. 

And at that moment, if Angus wouldn’t have been pulled further forward, he would have stopped dead in his tracks. 

A surreal feeling overcame him. Before him, laying on a cold slap of metal, kept alive by fantastical wizardry, was him. 

No, not him, but something that looked exactly like him. 

And at once, he understood. When Ralathor said they would separate him from the other Angus, he had never meant to put the other back to sleep. He was to be physically removed from this body. His breath staggered, his heart was beating nervously. 

“What if I’m not ready?” 

“You have to be,” was the only comfort Ralathor had to give. “Sit down.” 

Angus did as was been told, his eyes fixed reverently on the unmoving body.

“Who is he? Another me? The body that... that died?”

“No.” Ralathor hasted from one console to the next. Slowly, the whole room lit up. A buzzing noise filled the air. “It’s a clone. This one has never been alive and never will be without you. Without your soul, it’s nothing but an empty husk. I’ve been working on this since we left.” The commander turned towards him, stress drawing the expression on his face. 

“What if this goes wrong?” 

“It won't.” Ralathor came closer, inspecting the truly unconscious body. “It is not the transfer I worry about, because that will be under my control. It’s what follows that I fear.”

A low clink of metal on metal made Angus turn his head. The Hootsman had put his axe on the floor, his hands now resting on the end of its handle. 

With the axe ready at his hands and one visible dagger on his hips, he was unsettlingly well armed and ready for a situation that Ralathor just assured him was - mostly - under control. Their eyes met for a moment - an unspoken question lingering between them, but Angus didn’t dare to ask. 

“Just sit still,” Ralathor said next to him. “It’s not going to be painful but it’s also not going to be pleasant.” 

Angus hands were laying flat on his legs. A fatalistic sensation overcame him, the realization that there was nothing he could do, that he wasn’t in control over anything. This didn’t happen for the first time of late but now, he wasn’t facing shadow demons or the memories of evil wizards. These were his friends who he wanted to and should trust but that was hard with one being as ominous as ever and the other ready to wield his axe at him if the need should arise. But he had no choice. He wasn’t going to fight them, that was out of question. The only thing he could do was to just wait for whatever came next. 

“Angus.” Ralathor took him by his shoulder, making him look up again. “Do you remember what I told you? About that last option?” 

“You didn’t really tell me anything.” 

“Just enough. The question is, and I need both of you really to give me the absolute truth about it, no boasting or wishful thinking alright? Would you, if the evil within you can't be defeated, take your own life again?"

“Yes.” The word was on his tongue quicker than his consciousness could even object. 

"Why?"

Because he had died once to prevent this, he would do it again. Because there was no other way. "Because I can't be evil. It would bring unimaginable suffering to the people."

“Good. If that is what you truly believe, who you truly are, then there’s a chance.” He pressed a strange magical device against Angus’ head that seemed to hum slightly, and where he touched his skin it left cold marks. "Don't touch it!" Ralathor said as he turned away. Angus dropped his hand before he could feel for the unexpected sensation. 

Ralathor moved away from him and entered something on the consoles. The lights became even brighter. At first Angus thought it to be a trick of the eye, but gradually he saw raw energy sizzling in the air, sparks lighting up like fireflies around them. 

Despite it all, his confusion, his fear, it was strangely beautiful. 

Ralathor began to speak, harsh and purposeful, the words foreign to Angus. A haunting voice, cold and bodiless, answered from the void. 

Hootsman made a step back, the top of his axe clinking again at the steel floor as he settled. 

The light was painfully bright. 

And once more, Angus was surrounded by darkness. 

*

In that cold darkness, a fire started in his heart.

Trickling into every fiber of his being, tingling in the tips of his fingers. 

Then he opened his eyes. 

He was lying on cold metal, only a thin layer of fabric between the surface and his skin. His heartbeat was dizzyingly slow at first and needed a moment to pick up its pace. Then, it was finally beating hard and healthily in his chest. 

His thoughts were clear. They were his own.

He felt good. 

“Angus, stay back. I don’t want you to be caught in the crossfire. I’ll bring you back home the moment this is over, but right now we don’t have the time, so just stay with him. Alright?” 

He heard Ralathor speaking but the words didn’t make any sense to him. He turned his head and sat up.

Angus saw himself, standing with the Hootsman. His and the god’s eyes met as he didn’t stop watching Angus. The other him looked tense. 

“Don’t stand up yet-”

He stood up. His legs felt numb, but he stood stable enough. Flexing and stretching his fingers. 

“This is so strange,” he finally said, ecstatic how easy it was now. “It worked well, didn’t it?” 

He saw a brief glance between the Hootsman and Ralathor. Suspicion. 

“Please sit back down, Angus.” 

“I’m good. I feel great.” But to keep the peace he did sit back down. His eyes quickly scanned the room. There was nothing here. Then back to the Hootsman. The grip around the hilt of the axe had shifted ever so lightly. The handle of the seethed blade at his hips easy to reach for.

The sudden grip on his head made him jolt and he felt his mind tingle, startled he looked Ralathor whose face was stone cold. 

“But you’re not. Are you?” the commander muttered, letting go of his head again. 

“The only way to leave this place is the same way we came,” Ralathor explained factually, his voice raised again as he turned to leave. 

Angus met his eyes, steady for a moment, his lips almost twitching into a smile. 

“Come.” 

He knew he had no other choice so he stood up again and followed him. Hootsman and the other Angus were right behind him as they exited the room and walked down the corridor. Never in his life he had felt this calm. His whole body was filled with fire and purpose, the clarity of what he had to do, the sheer certainty of it, was so easy to understand. Maybe because he had done it before. 

“What is going on?” 

He heard his own voice from the other Angus, quiet as he whispered to the Hootsman. 

“We’ve run out of options. That’s what’s going on.” 

“But he seems fine.” 

Angus glanced behind him, looking into his own eyes for a moment before turning to the Hootsman. 

“No, he does not.” 

"Ow, you guys, that really hurts," Angus said with a narrow smile.

"You know what, yeah, he doesn't seem fine, you’re right." His alternate self frowned slightly, shifting a bit further behind Hootman. 

“Angus, whatever you’re thinking of doing, just don’t. Let’s get this over with and we all can go home.” 

“That’s fine with me,” he said in a carefree tune and with an indifferent shrug. Ralathor was silently walking in front of him. He really was that cocky. But then again, what really could he do besides the only thing he had to. 

Angus felt that they were close. Somehow, he knew, that door just at the end of this hallway was where his journey would end. Only about a dozen steps left.

“You said this last option of yours has the chance of killing me,” he stated calmly.

“Yes,” Ralathor confirmed what they both knew.

“What does that chance depend on?” Angus asked. Despite the heavy topic of the men he called his friends killing him, they talked in the same tone they’d talk about tonight’s plans after dinner.

“Whether or not you are still pure of heart. If your entire being has been corrupted, you will die,” Ralathor explained without looking at him. 

Almost at the door. 

“Hm.” Angus bowed his head slightly. The door in front opened. Deliberately slowly, he stepped over the threshold after Ralathor, slowing down the Hootsman behind him. 

“I don’t think I like to rely on those odds,” he declared.

All of a sudden, he pushed himself backwards. He crashed against the Hootsman who, in turn, stumbled against the other Angus and knocked him to the ground. The Hootsman was still ready to attack. He quickly recovered his footing and pushed Angus away. The godly strength behind the push threw the Prince half across the room. 

But at that point, Angus had already achieved all he wanted. Everything happened very fast. By the time he crashed onto the floor, Ralathor barely had enough time to turn around. The Hootsman raised his axe. Angus feigned a half-hearted attempt of standing up. 

He was on his knees for better reach before the others realized he was holding the Hootsman’s dagger in his hand.

Maybe the Hootsman would have taunted him, saying that he had no chance to beat any of them with merely a dagger. 

Then, Ralathor would have told the Hootsman that their lives wasn’t what Angus was after. Angus could read in the commander's face that he understood the moment he saw the blade.

But nothing of that happened. Ralathor was only about to lift his hands when Angus raised the dagger and - without a second of hesitation - thrusted the razor sharp blade into his own stomach.

Someone screamed. Someone shouted.

“Angus!” 

Before he could rip his own insides apart, his hands were pulled away from the dagger. His head hit the ground, the world blooming with sharp, bright flashes in front of him as the pain in his abdomen exploded inside him. The dagger was pulled from his body and the pain got worse. A metallic tasting red mist frothed from his mouth as he coughed. Laying in a puddle of his own blood, his face surrounded by the red spray of his approaching death, his cough turned into a laugh. 

Suddenly, he felt a weight on top of him. Through his blurry vision, he recognized Ralathor, the dagger in his hand, his features distorted by anger. 

“Look at you.” He coughed again, more blood dripping over his lips. “Looks like you want to kill me yourself now.” 

Ralathor didn’t answer. And as he actually raised his hand, the blade glistening with Angus' blood, he was actually surprised, but ecstatically so. His voice unrecognizable. “After all this you’re giving in to your own anger?” 

“Ralathor!” the Hootsman’s voice shouted from somewhere.

Ralathor grabbed Angus’ jaw with unexpected strength. He saw a last look in Ralathors face, there was no hesitation left. No doubt. “Not yet.” 

Then the knife came down on him, its blade sparkling in the bright lights. 

With precision the knife's point drove into the socket of his right eye. Angus screamed. The burning pain exploded at the end of every nerve and into his brain, and it wasn’t stopping. 

The wet sound was deafening in his ears. His head was throbbing. His own blood blinded him. His left eye rolled up in his head but didn’t find mercy in unconsciousness. 

He roared again against the pain, filled with frustration. 

“Finish it, you coward!” But the weight disappeared from his body. Blood was streaming down his cheek, his face was on fire. He tried to blink, and barely could see from his left eye. Dark spots dance in his blurred vision. The world to his right had gone completely dark for good.

He heard Ralathors voice again. He tried to drag himself up. God, he was dying again, but nothing could beat the efficiency of a volcanic inferno. This was taking way too long. Ralathor’s words were booming in the room, the light flickered with every syllable. 

Almost in shocked fascination, he realized what Ralathor was holding in his red, stained hand, blood dripping from his fingers. It was Angus’ eye.

The wizard stood in front of a square pedestal. A golden bowl was placed on the top. And with horror, Angus remembered he had seen that thing before not too long ago, in Ralathor’s book. So this was what he had meant to be his last option.

Ralathor cast the eye into the bowl. A clear liquid splashed as the dead organ broke the calm of the surface, all under Ralathors hauntingly sharp words. The flickering intensified till the fluctuation became too much and the lamps just broke and electrical hisses filled the air. 

With once the whole room lay in utter darkness. 

Angus heard Ralathor’s heavy breathing, a shifting of boots that was familiar, it was his own boots probably, a slow draggin of metal on the floor.

Then he heard water. At first, a low dripping, then, a slowly but constant stream splattering in front of him onto the floor. 

The light returned. It came from the golden bowl. A cold glow illuminated the room. And indeed, clear water was pouring from the bowl. It wasn’t moving and yet, more and more water poured over its edge, pooling on the ground around the pedestal. 

Hard steps came towards him, distracting his fascinated and horrified gaze from the bowl. Ralathor was next to him and grabbed him by his arm to pull him up. 

Angus groaned in pain, the blood pouring from the wound on his stomach increasing. He couldn’t stand and when Ralathor let go of him, he just fell, splashing into the growing puddle of water.

The very moment, like an electrical current, a flash went through his entire body. 

His heart stopped. Angus gasped, clenching his chest. Blood coloured the water red beneath him. But it wasn't water. It looked alive, moving on its own and seeping through his skin where it touched him.

His whole body buckled up when his heart started beating with twice its force. It hammered in his chest, the sound of his own pulse deafening in his ears. There was something inside of him, mingling with his blood and rushing through his veins from where it had forced its way into his flesh, replacing the numbing cold of death with a raging inferno.

"Angus! If you can beat it now, it will be the end! You'll be free from the curse!"

Angus’ fingers scratched over the floor, his every muscle spasming like possessed by a demon - and in a way, that was true. He cried out, anger and pain likewise filling his voice.

"I can't!" 

"Angus, listen to me-"

A hand on his shoulder, then on his face, gently turning his head. Blood and sweat dripped from his chin as he looked Ralathor in the face. 

"Do you remember what I told you?"

It slowed Angus down for a moment, panting and silent.

"I told you that we would go home."

"There's nothing left - they're all dead!" Angus' voice raised again, cracking in desperation and grief fueled by the anger within him.

"There is still the whole empire of Fife. And its rightful king will return. As it is your destiny. You know that."

Angus' hands twitched, he felt light headed, his thoughts swirling as he listened to Ralathor’s words; his voice was calm and soothing against the storm inside him.

"You are meant to rule the Galaxy. To protect and uphold the peace." 

Yes, he was. Had been. 

"This curse has made you do the most hainest, the greatest evil of all, as it made you try to take this hope from your galaxy - now for a second time. But you can return! You will return!"

Faintly, he felt something deep within himself, raising from the bottom of his heart into his chest. It wasn't anger. At first, it was nothing but a glimmer but it was growing.

"I have to," he mumbled to himself, "It's my destiny." 

"Yes, Angus. It is!" 

The pain faded. And so did everything else around him. 

Till it was only him. 

Lost in an ocean of white light. 


	12. Chapter 12

He was in the sickbay again when he woke up.

He was well rested and while still drowsy from his sleep, his mind was, for what felt like the first time in ages, clear.

But he couldn’t shake off the sense of disorientation when he looked around him and the world refused to match what his brain told him it should look like.    
He blinked hard, his face twitching. There was a raw, pulsating pain in his head. Unpleasant but not incapacitating. 

He tried again and realized what was wrong. He could only see from one eye.

He remembered. Of course he couldn’t see on the other side. Carefully, his fingers reached for his face, tentatively touching the area around his right eye. Some sort of patch pressed against its socket and even when he lifted it, the world to his right stayed dark. 

Hesitatingly, he felt for his abdomen but was surprised to find not even a bandage where he was very, very certain he had stabbed himself. But the skin was smooth and unharmed. Not even a faint redness was where his last memories told him he would at least have a gigantic scar if, against all odds, somebody had managed to patch him up. Instead, he felt merely a low tingling beneath his skin.

“Huh.” 

“Angus!” 

The booming and familiar raspy voice made him flinch and he looked up just in time to see the Hootsman strode inside the room. 

“Finally! I was starting to think you never would wake up.”

“What happened?” Angus had so many questions, it was impossible to decide which one to ask first.

“Your ascension to godhood was a raging success!” the Hootsman said, loosely crossing his arms with a similar smile of satisfaction he’d show when they were finally done with the bi-weekly crew meetings and moved on to having a drink.

“Excuse me?” 

“Ah right. You’re now...special. Especially good from how I understand that old man's ramblings.”

“Hootsman. Please. What are you saying?” He should have taken a moment to figure out what to ask first, then he’d have had a chance to work up to the talk about ascension and godhood with enough information to understand what was going on.

“Omnibenevolent. And I think you’re immortal now. We can test that out later if you want.” 

Helplessly, he looked at the Hootsman, utterly lost. From the corner of his still existing eye he saw a light movement and his eye focused on Ralathor standing in the door, a surprisingly gentle look in his face. 

If Angus would have guessed, he actually looked pleased. 

“Ralathor, I know you hate to tell me things, but can you please explain to me what has happened? And what’s with this god thing he’s talking about?”

Ralathor actually smiled lightly as he came closer. 

“It worked.”

“That is not helpful!” Angus frowned, paying no attention to the pain it caused around his missing eye.

“Your sacrifice was accepted and you’ve been recognized as truly good. Despite the curse within you. You have, as he said, ascended. Your wounds have been healed, the curse vanquished, and you are now...well...” Ralathor waved his hand vaguely as if that should explain everything.

“Yes?”

“A very good person, let’s say it like that.”

The Hootsman nodded to that. “Right, keep the ego thing on the low. Maybe a good idea.”

“Are you really the one who should be saying that?” Ralathor’s sigh let on that he was more tired than he acted. 

“Listen - not all gods are created equally, I’m not making the rules here.” 

Angus watched the banter between Ralathor and the Hootsman utterly baffled. He kind of understood what they were saying, but believing it was a different thing. He died but also didn’t, then he was caught with an alternative version of himself in that other Angus’ body, only to be ripped apart when he got too comfy, stuffed into a clone, almost died again and woke up as a half-blinded...god? Did any of this really happened or was he sleeping and it was actually just last Thursday? But the tiny possibility that nothing of this had happened and it would still be the day before the first time he died once he woke up was not comforting.

“What does all that even mean?” Angus finally groaned, cutting off their back- and forth. Ralathor decided to let the Hootsman have the last word this time and focused on Angus. 

“It means you are alive, Angus. That is all you need to take away from this for now." He paused for a moment, then his brows rose to an downright apologetic look. "And I hope you are not too angry about the eye."

"Yeah...my  _ sacrifice _ ? Was that really necessary? To drop my eye into - what - the Bowl of Good?" he asked but of course it had been. To his surprise, however, he was not only not angry, but didn't even think too much of it. If that had been the price to pay, so be it. An eye for a life, a loss he’d mourn but not a bad deal.

"Please don't call it that.” Ralathor flinched as if Angus’ words were nails on a chalkboard. “I could have taken your tongue instead. However, that seemed cruel to me, considering it's you we're talking about."

"Too kind. Thanks." Angus thought back to that moment and shuddered slightly. This was a lot to take in and there were many new, unpleasant memories he’d carry for the rest of his life - forever, if the Hootsman was right and he was immortal? However, it wasn’t his own insane behaviour that led to the gruesome loss of his eye that threatened to choke him.

"Honestly, you guys were terrifying at that moment. Really thought you were about to kill me." It hadn’t been much of a heartbreaking thought when it happened, the person he threatened to become under the curse of the knife hadn’t cared. But Angus, the person he really was, wished he never had to see his friends staring at him like that.

"Heat of the moment. Forgive me." Ralathor nodded gravely. "As with the knife, our understanding of these relicts from the place before time is still vague at best. But most rituals are certainly rather gruesome in their application." He looked back at the Hootsman, his tone becoming more lighthearted as he obviously did not wish to dwell on the topic. “And we’re not testing the _immortality_ _thing_ until we’re back home.” 

“Home.” That was a strange thought, and as if Ralathor was reading his mind, he gave Angus an understanding look.

“But maybe that can still wait a moment. We have a bit of time now.” 

“Where is the other Angus?” 

“Back at his home already. You've been unconscious for a while," Ralathor said, his voice stoic as ever but that couldn’t conceal the apologetic look in his eyes.

"He said he might keep the beard, though." the Hootsman threw in the probably most important information of all. 

“Oh. I see.” Angus wished he could have talked to him again and really meet him for the first time, and tell him that he was sorry for all this, for the way he acted. Thank him and maybe say goodbye. “We are still in his reality, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Ralathor said gravely.

“And that means there are now two Angus’ in this universe.” 

“A terrifying thought, is it not?” 

“Ralathor.” He took a deep breath but failed not to laugh. And it felt good. He felt good and nothing could take away from that now. Not even the pain he would have to endure for a while whenever his face changed to a frown or a laugh. It was just another sign that he was alive, what was not to feel good about that? 

“You’re right." Angus smiled. He wished he could visit the other and say what he wanted to say but they had already messed too much with the flow of this reality. And they had shared one body and brain long enough, Angus was sure that the other knew, just as he knew how the other felt about all this - that all three of them were welcome. 

"That’s one too many. Let’s go home!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s been Universe: Heart of Fire! I hope you enjoyed it! It was quite a new experience for me in putting my writing out here this publicly - and I'm glad a good few people have found as much excitement with it as I have. Thank you all so much, for the comments, the messages and the tags! ❤❤  
> Angus losing an eye is somewhat inspired by the Nanowar of Steel’s Vallaheluja video - while I am so unbelievably glad The Master of Ikea Angus it’s not canon for real, I did dig the visual idea of it quite a lot. :’D
> 
> A thousand thanks go out to Ligeia Maloy again, who did an outstanding job in editing and beta-reading this story. It wouldn’t be the same without her!


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